


If It Began Differently

by Madoking



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alexios on Kephallonia, Kass is bi baby, Kassandra raises Alexios AU, Kassandra saves Alexios from the bottom of Taygetos, King!Alexios, Retelling of the events of Odyssey but with Alexios having been raised by kassandra, Sibling as parent stuff, Sparta will be Sparta even without the sibling's help, alexios grows up, i haven’t cared for pythagoras since year 7 math, lots of fluff, mild kyrsandra content, nikolaos is 100 percent their bio dad, sibling stuff, so he’s not in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-09-24 16:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 86,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20361889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madoking/pseuds/Madoking
Summary: Kassandra touched her baby brother's cheek lightly, crying out to him to wake. His rattled breaths came out quickly, jarred from the fall from Taygetos.But he was breathing, and she could save him.So she ran, holding him close to her chest, until she found a boat which fit them both, and put it out into the storm, world waiting.





	1. Twelve and four

**Author's Note:**

> A retelling of the events of Odyssey, if Kassandra saved Alexios and went to Kephallonia with him.

The rain poured down, Zeus cracking the sky apart thunderbolt by thunderbolt. The striking light made it possible to see, barely, but each drop moved to earth at such speed so as to be a curtain, matching hue for hue and light for light. A deafening roar erupted, the sky breaking at the noise, startled into submission. A figure stood, not tall or graceful, but miniscule against the cruelty of the cosmos: defying thy blood and scorching thine own name. It was nothing, a grain of sand among pearls, slipping through the ground and crunching under foot.

The figure did not weep. The figure did not see. The figure walked backwards towards the precipice, seeking their own limits. But they did not fall. They just stood, unmoving and unmoved, until the ground shook and an eagle flew from their back. It swooped down, cawing at the muddied earth, searching, searching. It found none it sought. 

It sought none that it found. 

\-------

Kassandra sat up, screaming, and hit her head on the leg of the table she had been sleeping under. She rubbed her forehead roughly, clearing it, while wondering what had caused the ringing in her ears.

_You, you fool._

Oh, right. The nightmare. Always the same. She couldn’t wait until she no longer screamed at it. 

She heard whimpering next to her and dread sat in her heart like a stone. She had too many errands to run today, and had hoped that the child next to her wouldn’t be too frightened to let her do them. Her nightmare had obviously woken him, too, and she knew soothing him now would be unsuccessful.

He looked up at her with large brown eyes, his hair slightly obscuring his forehead. She pushed it back, and he gasped lightly at her touch. 

“You’ll have to stay here for a little, until I come back from Sami,” she said quietly. He was only four, and could listen well enough to instructions, as long as she gave him realistic boundaries. They had been able to cower under the main table of a house on the south western side of the island for a few days now, with no homeowner yet appearing to claim it from them. She knew he would be safe enough here while she went and earned them money from Markos.

“What would you like me to bring home?” she asked, moving out from under the table. He sat still, watching her from his blankets. “Berries? A flower?”

He smiled slightly at the suggestion of the flower, them being his favourite gift of all. 

“And a stick!” he almost yelled.

“Ok,” she said. “I’ll get you a long, strong stick, and we’ll practice your stance. Maybe you’ll finally knock me down.” She jumped toward him, holding her arms up as if wielding a staff. She’d been taught extensively by their father, before: he hadn’t wanted her falling behind the boys that he trained at the agoge, knowing she couldn’t enter. 

Kassandra didn’t let her mind linger, knowing it made the nightmares worse. 

Instead, she tickled her brother, eliciting a squeal of delight from him.

“Now stay in the house until I come back with a stick worthy of the mighty Alexios, and don’t answer the door for anyone except Markos, yes?” He nodded at her and Kassandra, satisfied, moved to check the bar on the doors and windows that she had installed. Finding them sound, she climbed through the sky light in the roof, sending a last wave in her brother’s direction, before throwing herself off the roof and landing at a run. 

She hated leaving him, being so young. But it was up to her to ensure they ate. 

Running cleared her head, nearly as much as the familiar thump, thump, thump of her grandfather’s spear at her back made her sure that she was capable of the life they led. Self doubt clouded everything, usually, but when she wielded the spear, she was the force of the wind herself. Nike personified. 

She passed a house on the way to Markos’, and waved to woman sitting out the front.

“And what is Markos’ pet up to today?” she called, laughing at her own joke.

Kassandra didn’t reply, and just kept running right on passed the house. She wouldn’t be goaded, wouldn’t be provoked into being anything other than helpful or courteous to the people of this island. She couldn’t afford any ill-will that people may take out on her brother. 

Her brother. Just a baby. And she was the only thing standing between them and oblivion. Flashes of the time before, and the ease of it, moved through her mind like sparks alighting a volcano. Food always available; helots to do the work; pater to teach her how to fight and mater to teach her how to act. What would they be if they hadn’t assented to Alexios’ death, and her pater partaken in hers with his own hand? Would they have been happy? Would Alexios be preparing for the agoge, just a few short years away for him, maybe able to eclipse her in skill?

Kassandra shook her head again, chasing the thoughts away. They didn’t matter, anyway. They were in Kephallonia, and surviving despite themselves. As long as their luck held out, she’d be able to get Alexios to boyhood and he would be safer. 

She ran into Markos’ yard, skidding to a halt and breathing hard from the run. She’d forgotten to bring water, and made her way over to the well to bathe her face. 

“Water isn’t free,” called Markos from behind the house.

“Then pay me in it,” she whispered, rubbing it behind her ears. She’d been working for Markos since they’d arrived, more than three years ago. He didn’t know where they’d come from, but saw Kassandra as a unique business opportunity: the type that could only come from a desperate child who needed to provide for their sibling. Kassandra had divulged nothing since, claiming forgetfulness whenever asked. Sometimes she refused to speak at all, and many incorrectly thought her stupid. She knew people were more likely to underestimate her if they thought her stupid. 

She finished up at the well and walked around the house to where Markos was sitting. 

“Kassandra!” he exclaimed, opening his arms wide. 

“What do you want done for the day? I left Alexios at the house, but need to be back soon for him.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. Your baby brother needs you.” Markos had a way about him where his words on their own would be patronising, but their tone made them warm and inviting. She guessed that this was how he had so many people convinced to lend him money. “I have a debt that needs collecting in Sami, and a few wolves that need getting.”

“Who owes you money?”

“Doris, the pot merchant.”

“Feels like I’m seeing Doris every two weeks.”

Markos looked at her sheepishly. “Keep the drachmae he provides, to give you the incentive to go. It’s the principle: he owes me the interest on his last loan.”

Kassandra nodded, quietly calculating how much she should ask of Doris. 

“And the wolves?”

“They’re disturbing my mother’s farm, on the eastern side of the Statue of Zeus. I told her I’d manage it, and now I’m asking you to manage it.”

“Some wolves, and Doris. Easy enough. It’ll be done today: I won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“Keep the pelts, as your gift. My mother will see to your payment.”

“Chaire, Markos.”

She started running east, her spear comforting her clouding self doubt. 

What if she wasn’t quick enough? What if she didn’t see one of the wolves and it came for her with its teeth? What if something happened to her and no one checked on Alexios? 

The thump, thump, thump of her spear reminded her that she was capable, that she was smart, that she was strong. And that she could deal with a pack of wolves. 

The sun was climbing now, heating the day. She distracted herself with what toy she would buy for her brother with the drachmae from Doris: a wooden sword? No, he needed better staff work before starting with a sword. A toy ship? Maybe, but could it be diversified to teach him a skill? A wax tablet? She could start him on his letters, teach him how to spell his name. He might be too young for it, she concluded. She would check the agora once in Sami. 

She met Markos’ mother at her house, and she was grateful to see the girl.

“Thank the Gods, I was hoping he’d send you, girl,” she said, leaning her arm against the front door frame of her house. Her dress moved about her loosely, and Kassandra had a pang of jealousy over the golden embroidery about the neck of it. Her own clothes were sewn by her own hand from the offcuts abandoned by wives in the area. She found most of them littering the gardens in Sami, and sewed herself an appropriation of the chiton she wore in Sparta. 

“Where’s your brother?” the old woman asked.

“At home,” Kassandra said simply. “I’ll sort out your wolf problem. Markos said you’d provide payment and I could keep the pelts?”

“He did, did he. He’s too generous to you, I think. I’ll have two pelts, you can have the remainder, and I’ll pay you forty drachmae to get them gone.”

Kassandra considered the offer. “Or,” she said quietly, but sternly. “I’ll take all the pelts and your price is sixty drachmae.”

“Girl, forty and all pelts.”

“You know what,” Kassandra said, moving her hands freely, indicating the surrounding countryside. “I don’t think there’s anyone in the vicinity who has the skill, time, or inclination to kill your troublesome wolves. And there won’t be anyone like that, except me, in the area before tonight, when the wolves are surely to take more lambs. Sixty, and all pelts.”

The old woman considered her with one eye closed against the sun, then she cackled maniacally, throwing her head back. The sound reverberated through the valley, and Kassandra felt it right down to her bones. She’d done work for Markos’ mother before, and was used to the run around she gave her. A year ago, Kassandra would have been grateful for just the pelts, but she was learning to assert herself and her skills. Markos was close enough to family, so his mother seemed like a good target to try it out on. 

Kassandra didn’t let any of this show on her face, instead feigning disinterest while the woman who was her money for the day laughed at her. 

Still laughing, she retreated back into the house, and returned with sixty drachmae pieces, patting Kassandra’s hand as she did so.

“You know what? If my Markos was anything like you at ten, he wouldn’t still be on Kephallonia.”

“I’m twelve, but thank you.”

Kassandra then turned, grasped her spear, and set to work on tracking the wolf pack. 

\--------

“Doris,” Kassandra yelled across the agora, walking towards the pot stand. Doris was stacking his wears after the day of trade, ready for lunch. “Good day?”

“Kassandra, it’s strange to see you without your shadow,” Doris said, his back to her.

“You owe Markos money, Doris.”

Doris froze, unstacked pot in hand. “You’re too young for this kind of work, girl. You aren’t a misthios, you’re an errand girl. Now toddle off home.”

Fury lit Kassandra’s heart, but she let only a portion of it light her eyes. _Keep them on side, don’t give them a reason to hate you._

“I know you owe him interest, and I’m here to collect, but I’m generous. I have pelts and wolf meat, here, that I can gift you in exchange for the fifty drachmae you owe Markos. Then, that’ll be the last of it. My gift to you.”

Doris looked at the handcart that Kassandra had rolled behind her, full of skinned animals and their pelts. 

“How many pelts?” Doris asked. The winter rains _were_ coming. 

“Two, and an animal’s worth of meat.”

“For fifty?”

“For fifty,” Kassandra confirmed. 

“Ok, deal. But I don’t want you here again. You could get honest work, you know, working with a weaver or a smith.”

“Yes, but then I’d work half the day for half the pay. Thank you, Doris.” Then she turned to the right hand side of the stall, and spied some wooden weapons.

“Doris, how many pelts for the two staffs, there?”

“Why, do you think you could wield one?” he laughed, disbelieving. If there was one thing that Kassandra found jarring about Kephallonia, it was that the children didn’t learn weaponry. 

“Yes, how many pelts?”

\-------

Kassandra raced home, dragging her spoils behind her. A hundred and ten drachmae jingled in her pocket, and she mildly hoped someone would try and steal them from her just so she could knock them down with her newly acquired staff. 

She made it back to the house and swore under her breath. She’d forgotten the flowers for Alexios. 

She dropped the edge of the cart and first ran to the door, pressing her ear against the wood, listening for him. She heard his quiet singing: a song about monsters and heroes. She sighed in relief, releasing the tension in her shoulders that she had carried all day. It felt like she was being thrown between necessities: from the care for her brother to the ensuring of their survival. She could rest a while now, the drachmae she’d earnt that day could buy them proper locks for the doors and the pelts would act as new beds. She had plans for the money, to make her income more passive, and give her less need to be away from her brother. 

Satisfied that he was ok, she ran to the cliff’s edge, hastily picking his favourite white and yellow flowers, arranging their stems with a strip of hay to make it into a bouquet. She then ran back, and scaled the walls, dropping down from the sky light.

“Alexios, it’s just me,” she said. She peered into the gloom, trying to find him. He had strict instructions to hide if he heard anyone trying to climb the roof, until she revealed herself. 

She was almost bowled over as he ran to her, hugging her around the waist. She hugged him back, squeezing him so tightly to her that she felt they might mould together. Once they parted, she became aware of how stiflingly hot it was in the house, and moved to open the windows and doors to let the breeze through. 

“I have a present for you,” she said, holding out the bouquet to him. 

“Flowers!” he squealed, snatching them from her and bringing them to his nose. “I like yellow ones.”

“I know you do. But that’s not all, I have something else too.”

He followed her out of the house, and she pulled the pair of staffs from the hand cart. “One for you, and one for me. Our pater trained me in the staff, and our mater in the spear. And I can train you, properly, now that we have proper weapons.”

Alexios stared at her in wonder, taking the smaller staff from her and running it through his hands. 

“Just for me?” he asked, looking at it.

“Just for you, brother.”

His smile cracked his face in two, and he ran to her for another hug. She returned it, then began to unpack the remaining pelts and meat.

She added the new drachmae to her hidden pouch, counting out their total. She had almost a thousand, enough to buy seeds and proper skinning tools. People always needed game and skins, just as they would always need errands run. She smiled slightly to herself, hopeful for the first time in a long time. 

Ever since she’d saved herself and Alexios from the bottom of the mountain, she’d had a gaping hole of responsibility which threatened to swallow her whole. Now, with Alexios a little older, herself a little wiser, and their assets increasing, life didn’t seem like a complete waste of survival. 

Perhaps they could live.


	2. Fifteen and Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Alexios' eighth birthday, and Kassandra hunts down some gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love! I really appreciate it!

She slipped through the reeds circling the bay, sliding her feet through mud and grime, silently stalking. Her arrow was against her hand, ready to be drawn, but not yet. No. She would need to get closer for this particular prize. If it saw movement, it would descend upon her; if she left it too late, it would devour her; but if she timed it right, was quicker and quieter than she’d ever been, she may take home the pelt of the largest she-wolf she’d ever seen. It had a black streak down its flank, with fur lost across its shoulders from injury. Kassandra wondered what had inflicted it: beast or man. 

Her feet caught slightly on submerged litter, juddering her movements. Her breath flowed out, emptying her lungs in preparation for the shot. She stroked the arrow’s shaft, moving her finger across the precious wood. They cost her more than she’d like to admit, but until she could make her own, she’d have to pay. All skills in due time. 

A whisper of wind moved to her face, assuring her that she was downwind, and that the wolf couldn’t smell her. She lifted the arrow, moved it to her bow, and took aim through her brown eyes, momentarily cursing the hair that had escaped her diligent braiding. 

She let the arrow loose, punching it through the air towards the creature that presented such a prize. She reached behind her back for another, in preparation for its release, should she need it. 

But she didn’t. The wolf didn’t even whimper before falling to the ground, her arrow bedded into its eye and out the back of its skull. She ran over to it, smirking, glad that the extra she’d paid for the hardwood arrow shaft had been worth it. 

She had to move quickly, get the animal home before anyone tried to claim it from her. The Cyclops was becoming a problem as her power on Kephallonia increased, but this pelt wasn’t to be sold, nor was it to be traded. 

It was for her brother, on his eighth birthday. It was tomorrow, she guessed, not knowing the days truly except from the religious festival calendar. They usually celebrated his birthday in late summer and hers in early winter, whichever day it fell on. So he would need the new pelt for the coming winter rains.

She loaded the animal into her cart, securing it with a linen blanket around the edges, and hadn’t walked two steps out of the bay before she heard the keening. It was small, helpless, and it piqued her interest simply for its novelty. She dropped the cart, moving towards the sound. She rounded the bend, and eyed a cave in the rocks above. It was small, enough for one person to perhaps find shelter, but the sounds coming from it were not human. 

She climbed up to it, rounding to the top of it so she could bend down and see over the edge, rather than endanger herself by approaching from the front. She knew better, simply from experience, than to place herself between the sea and teeth. 

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness slowly, as the sun was still high, until she spied the smooth movement of a tail against the back end of the cave. Satisfied that she could overcome the animal as she’d overcome its mother, she dropped down, entering a crouch which she hoped said _friendly_ rather than _I’m here to eat you._

She needn’t have worried, for the creature bounded towards her on its little puppy feet, knocking her off her ankles and onto her arse. It bit her on the wrists, trying to find purchase in the leather guards she wore there. She rubbed its chest, earning herself a nip on the fingers. 

“Hey, hey,” she soothed. “There’s bite in you yet.”

The puppy snapped at her in reply, now focusing its attention on her bare fingers as they tried to move through its fur. 

“I’m sorry I killed your mother,” Kassandra whispered. “If it helps, one day you may want to kill mine and I might not object.”

The puppy snapped at her again, but it had ceased whimpering, which Kassandra took as a good sign. 

“I have a brother. You two might like each other.”

The puppy looked at her then, the might of its grey eyes staring through her. It wasn’t begging, or pleading with the animal that could end its life as soon as look at it, but it was considering whether the animal was worthy of companionship. 

“C’mon,” Kassandra said, lifting it into her arm. “I’ll take you home and if you don’t like it, I’ll make you well enough to survive on your own, then you can be free. How does that sound?”

The puppy snapped at her hair as it swung towards it, batting slightly at the ends. Kassandra held it close as she scaled the cliff face, then she placed it in the pack she carried across her shoulder, and with the she-wolf in the handcart, she headed for home. 

\--------

Alexios was picking flowers when she returned to the house, his hair worn long about his shoulders and his chiton covered in dirt. He looked up at her approach, Kassandra still a hundred or so strides from the house, and hid the bouquet behind his back, hoping that she hadn’t seen it. He always picked her flowers for when she returned, as surely as he’d practiced his letters and learnt his songs. He stood up, dusted off his knees, and walked through the back door. Everything seemed tidy from the day, and he knew she didn’t really mind, but he liked to make things nice for her in the ways he could. 

And besides, a little grease before he reminded her of her promise of years ago might make the difference. 

He heard her drop the cart to the ground, heavy with a load, and move toward the open front door. 

“I’m home,” she called, a small bark accompanying her words so that it seemed that she’d said them with a dog’s mouth. 

“In here,” he called back, holding the flowers in his hand, trembling slightly. What if she hadn’t remembered her promise? Or, worse, what if she had, and had decided against it?

He basically threw the flowers at her when she came around the corner, and Kassandra jumped back in surprise. They both laughed, and Alexios bent down to pick them up for her. 

“I have a surprise for you too, but I won’t throw it,” she said, laugh still in her voice. She was holding out a wolf pup, its jaws trying to capture the hands that held it so tight. Its tail was long and wagging, its coat was a mix of black and grey, and its eyes were the colour of a storm. Alexios gasped, a smile making its way around his face. 

“A wolf?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes,” Kassandra answered. “Take him, hopefully he won’t try to take your fingers like he did mine.” She passed him the squirming bundle and Alexios held it close to him, its belly sitting along his short forearm, its legs swimming in the open air. He shushed it slightly, rubbing it behind the ears. It relaxed at his touch, melting into the scratch.

“See?” Kassandra said. “He likes you. Do you want to keep him?” 

“For me?” Alexios said.

“Yes, brother. It’s your birthday.”

“Oh, yes then. Yes I want to keep him.”

“Good, because I killed his mother before I knew she had him.”

Alexios nodded in reply, and looked down at the pup. “Now, neither of us have mothers.”

Kassandra looked at him sadly, but Alexios knew the anger in his heart was reflected in hers. “You have a mother, Alexios.”

“His mother would have protected him,” he said quietly, facing the wolf pup.

“When you’re a bit older, hopefully we’ll find the answers we seek. Now, that’s not all I got for you, wait here.”

Alexios waited, moving to the floor so the pup, which had fallen asleep in his arms, could rest in his crossed legs. He stroked it absentmindedly, sending itching spasms up its back.

Kassandra returned with the edge of a tail, a sample of the she-wolf’s coat.

“I killed the she-wolf for you, either for the pelt for a bed, or for the leather to make you armour. I think it’s time I went a little harder on you. The agoge would have.”

He took the fur from her and felt it through his fingers. “I think the armour,” he replied. He hesitated, and she waited for him to speak again. She lay her hand down on the pup, gently touching his fingers as she did so. 

He couldn’t form the words properly. His mouth was as dry as a bone. He waited for the ideas to flow out of him, like they usually did, but the moments were dragging on. 

“Alexi-”

“You promised me two years ago that when I turned eight you would take me with you when you went hunting and I’m eight now and I want to go hunting and learn it from you and so I can hunt too and you wouldn’t be the only one hunting.”

He said the words so fast, and so jumbled, that when he’d finished, all he could do was look down at his hands. Kassandra moved her hand from the back of the pup, and sat herself down opposite him. He was still looking down when he heard a blade leave its sheath, and then another, and finally the twang of his sister’s bow as she removed it from her back. He could see in his peripheral vision that she placed these between them, on the floor. 

“Alexios,” she started, a touch of sympathy mingled with a touch of humour. How could she stand it? The constant telling him no? He couldn’t leave the house without her. He couldn’t go out onto the rocks. He couldn’t light a fire inside or speak to strangers or handle honed blades. He couldn’t even hunt rabbits to cook for them. He wasn’t a baby anymore, and she knew it. 

He looked up at her defiantly. All this he was ready to say to his defense, but something small stopped him. His sister had a gleam in her eye, one which told him to wait. 

“Alexios,” she said again. “I remember my promise. I know it didn’t make sense at the time, but I set out rules to keep us safe. I’ve laid out my main weapons between us. Tell me your preference between them for where to begin.”

He stared at her. Her hands were open and deferential, waiting for him to extract his hands from the fur of the pup and point to something.

“You’ll train me in the hunt?” he asked, breathless. 

“Have I not been training you all these years?” she replied.

“Yes, but a staff in our yard is different to a knife in the field.”

“It doesn’t have to be a knife. You could choose the bow, or the spear.”

He looked down, then back up at her, then back down at the choices. 

“We will only _start_ you in your choice, if you find something else you like, you can try it. But you will become an expert in them all, that I can guarantee.”

“The spear,” he said finally. “I want to try the spear.”

Kassandra nodded, gesturing to him to pick it up. As he reached for it, her eyes went suddenly wide as if in remembrance, grasping at his hand too late.

As his fingers touched the spear, a vision sped through him. 

It was dark, raining, with storms above them swirling through the sky. A woman was screaming out in earnest, whether pleading for vengeance or pity, Alexios didn’t know. She wore red, and was being held by a heavily armoured man who had his face covered. She faced other men, some armoured, some not. One was holding a girl to him, with her attempting to escape him. The hold he had was tenuous at best, and Alexios knew she would escape him eventually: how he knew this was unclear to him. 

A priest in white held a small bundle above his head, and walked towards the cliff. The woman screamed all the more, pleadingly, he decided. The bundle moved slightly, but the priest held it like it was full of snakes: deadly, useful, snakes. As he moved towards the cliff, a tremor tore through the girl and she pulled free of her captor, speeding towards the edge of the cliff and sending the man off the edge. The bundle travelled over too, out of reach of her outstretched hand. She searched after it, eyes only on the darkness swirling below. Alexios looked at her more fully, and saw his sister’s eyes receding back from the abyss. It was Kassandra, and the bundle was him. She’d tried to save him, and failed. As Alexios stared, a giant armoured man came up behind her and she turned, throwing herself into his chestplate. She called him pater, and Alexios looked at him, his father and quasi protector. The screaming of the woman increased, Alexios not sparing her a glance as he watched his sister be thrown from the mountain.

Alexios was thrown backwards, sprawling onto the floor. The wolf pup jumped away from him, whimpering at the sudden movement. He heard breathing, and the gentle strokes of Kassandra’s hands across his cheeks. 

“Alexios! I’m so sorry, I forgot. Alexios, are you ok? What did you see?”

He opened his eyes, finding tears pooled below them. He looked at his sister, having so rarely seen her scared. He’d seen it twice now: in the vision and in this room now. Perhaps she wasn’t fearful of him, but rather, of what he’d seen. 

“Kass,” he whispered, “I saw a rain storm and a priest. I saw you, and pater.”

Kassandra hushed him, picking him up off the floor and bringing him to her chest. He was crying openly now, so frightened of what he’d seen. 

“Shhh, shhh,” she said. “It can’t hurt you now, shhh.”

They sat like that, Kassandra rocking her weeping brother, until the sun was beyond the western hills. Alexios eventually fell asleep, and Kassandra transferred him to his bed.

Once he was settled, she walked out of the house and across to the cliffs that looked towards Achaia. Then she screamed, a yell that travelled over the sea and the rocks, hopefully reaching the lands of Lakonia. She screamed for mercy. She screamed for fury. She screamed for the hatred in her heart. She screamed for the light spark of forgiveness to enter her. 

But it didn’t.


	3. Sixteen and eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexios pushes boundaries.

Kassandra was furious. Her teeth threatened to overtake her lips, ready to be bared in a manifestation of her anger. She felt the spear react to her heat, as it usually did when she was in combat, tingling along the centre of her back, sheathed for the time being. Her hands begged to be used: _let us take care of the problem_, they said, _let us fight_. She grimaced, clenching her jaw shut as her eyes moved across the dry plains before her. 

She’d been explicit. She’d been certain. She’d lain the ground rules. 

But he’d done it anyway. He’d pushed back against her rules for weeks, months, years even. He’d tested her boundaries and decided on the ones he liked to spite her. Just thinking of it solidified her resolve. 

He wouldn’t get away with it, this time. 

She leaped down, indicating to her eagle to follow the trail of the boy. He’d headed west, because of course he had. Not only was there a bounty on her courtesy of the Cyclops, but Alexios had to walk directly into his lands, seemingly praying for death. Her feet drove her faster at the thought. Though she was angry with him, he was hers to be angry with, and anyone else who touched him would meet her spear. 

It was the spear that was the problem, of course. He’d begged to use it, and she’d refused, instead buying him a full sized one to practice with instead. It had been months, but she’d refused to let him touch it after his last birthday, frightened of what it would reveal to him that she would prefer to keep. 

She’d been his age when they fell, and remembered the stony silences that followed her requests for further and further danger. Her pater had laughed, her mother had grimaced, and in the end she was sent to hunt a boar with only the spear on her back. Boys in the agoge had hunted worse, she’d reasoned, and she was the daughter of the General: capable, strong, smart. 

Be careful what you wish for. 

At least she’d known how to hunt rabbits and fish when they’d reached Kephallonia. Something she will never fault her parents for: giving her the knowledge of survival before she’d ever hoped to need it. 

Ikaros keened from above, indicating that she should shift her path a little further north. She responded, following the next rise onto a grassed crest. From there she could see the rest of the island, laid before her in tones of gold and green. Maybe one day she’d be able to stop long enough to enjoy it. 

Instead she ran on, keeping her ears piqued for the sound of her brother, the other boys, or for Deimos, the wolf pup. 

He’d dwelled on the name for weeks, waiting for it to come to him. He wanted a God of war, but didn’t want to incur Ares’ wrath. 

_Nike? Phobos? Adrestia?_ Kassandra had suggested. 

_I want one that strikes fear,_ he’d answered. 

Deimos. _The dread._

Kassandra tutted through her breath. She hated the name. At least she liked the pup.

Ikaros indicated that she was close and, as she suspected, she’d entered the Cyclop’s land to get there. She moved to a nearby bush, listening and watching the ground for movement. This was the orchard side of his estate, and often people lost hands for stealing the fruit. Kassandra had successfully grown fruit near their own home, and Alexios knew that an apple from here would cost him more than it was worth. 

She spotted a boy, not fifty paces from her, moving silently among the trees, basket in hand. She recognised him from town, one of the merchant’s sons. She whistled to him, and he turned towards her hiding place, dropping an apple as he did so. His eyes searched for the source of the noise, and Kassandra moved into the sun so he could see her. She saw his eyes go wide, and a squeak escaped his lips. She gestured towards her and, knowing that her reputation preceded her, put her arms up in deference. 

“I just want to talk,” she whispered, hoping the sound carried down the hill. 

The boy looked about him and, seemingly making a decision, ran to her as if Hades himself was on his tail. 

As he ran, she heard the mutterings of other people in the orchard, one calling out.

He reached her and launched himself behind her, as if she would shield him from the spirits of the trees that sought his soul. His eyes were lit, searching for pursuers that never came. 

“He convinced me to come, he said that the apples were sweeter here and that he could fight off the Cyclops’ men so we wouldn’t lose our fingers.”

Kassandra’s brow creased. 

“Is he here?”

The boy nodded, dropping the basket he was holding. “He was the one who called out. They’re hiding in the blackberry thicket.”

“Get on home boy, and I might not tell your mother that you were here today. Don’t forget her basket.”

He nodded again, and ran up the hill with Hermes’ sandals, dropping apples over the path in his haste. 

Kassandra turned back to the orchard, eyes now moving from the trees to the black mass that was the thorns of a blackberry bush. 

A memory flashed through her mind: her hiding in the blackberries into the late afternoon, gorging herself on the ripened fruit. She, with her own friends, boys and girls that she’d run and played with and had hoped to grow to womanhood with. They’d watched the dancing and false courting of the adults, and mimicked them, providing their own ceremonies with fits of giggles and verbose claims of championship. It was all play, in the end. The girls would be educated in their own households until adulthood, when they’d be more likely to survive the birth of their first born, then married off, and the boys would be in the agoge, then the army, then the barracks, until Sparta claimed their lives.

Kassandra had known that, as the daughter of the General and a descendant of the Agiad line, she would have been both well educated and seamlessly integrated into the war society of Sparta. She would partake in the dancing, she would become an expert weaver, and she would see her sons die. 

And her brother, now that she considered it. He would have excelled in the agoge, she knew that just from training him herself, but would he have survived their wars? Their conquests? The life of a Spartiate with the blood of kings, and with the current King having only a tenuous at best connection to the Agiad line? Alexios could have been King, had Sparta accepted him. But Kassandra knew that it was this fact which had sealed his fate: even the oracle wouldn’t have bothered much with the prophecy of a boy of low birth, but the prophecy of a boy with royal blood was something else entirely. 

She shuddered at the remembering, bringing herself back into the present. She whistled to Ikaros to search for any men about, and, with his light skwark that indicated to the negative, she revealed herself from her hiding place. She then used the heaviness of her feet to announce her presence to the boys she knew were in the blackberry thicket, hopefully sending the fear of Adrestia through them. She heard muttering as she approached, and stood just on the other side of the bush, barring their silent escape.

“Get home now, and I might not tell your mothers that you were here,”she said quickly. A rustle and quiet muttering sounded from the thicket, and she waited, standing with her hands on her hips and her chin jutting defiantly.

Deimos emerged from the bush, and the muttering turned to sighs and grunts. Kassandra knelt down and pet the wolf pup, sending shivers up his spine. 

“Alexios, out now.”

Two boys, who were not Alexios, emerged from the thicket covered in purple juice. Kassandra threw her head to the left, indicating that they should leave.

“Traitors!” she heard her brother yell from the thicket, then she heard him swear under his breath as he extracted himself from the thorns. Kassandra stifled a giggle: he was like her in so many ways that she couldn’t count. In fact, she thought she’d been in a thicket, exactly like this, when a friend of hers had said that she wouldn’t be punished because she could just outrun her mother. 

The smile that threatened to light her mouth faded, as she remembered that she was distinctly not Alexios’ mother, and that he had a mother who lived in Lakonia. 

He looked like he’d been to Tartarus and back, covered in scratches and pink juice. He shook his hands, covering his chiton in berries, and refused to look at her. She wasn’t fussed, knowing he felt more anger at her threatening his position as the leader of the children, than at her appearance here. 

Kassandra turned on her heel, and moved out of the orchard, not stopping until there was five hundred or so paces between them and the edge of the Cyclop’s land. She didn’t have to turn to know that he was following her: Deimos was playfully snapping at her heels as she walked, and if the pup was near, Alexios wasn’t far behind. 

Once she considered there to be a safe distance between them and the orchard, she turned and faced him. He had been looking at his feet as they walked, and collided with her after her sudden turn, ending up on the ground covered in dirt. His chiton, which Kassandra had bought new after his recent growth spurt, was now in various shades of pink, brown, and gold, with the pale green of the cloth breaking through the gaps in the muck. She grunted at him, holding out her hand for him to grasp. He took it without thinking, then, remembering that he was mad at her, pulled back and lifted himself with both hands. 

“I know you’re angry, but you could have been killed.”

“The Cyclops only wants you dead, not me.”

“Did you not think that he’d happily parade your head instead?”

Alexios didn’t answer, instead focusing on the nails of his right hand. His spear hand. 

“Alexios, tell me what this is about. You and the other boys have never taken such risks before.”

He still didn’t answer, knowing that this would lead her into her lecture which would mean he could escape earlier. He wasn’t wrong, but still resented the time he had to spend here.

“Brother, please talk to me.”

“You’re not my mother. Stop acting like you are.”

Kassandra didn’t reply, but instead sat heavily on the ground. Alexios looked down at her sadly, regretting the words as soon as they’d left his mouth. He had no memory of their mother, except for the woman in the red dress that the vision had shown him. Kassandra had never really spoken about her, as if she were dead and you couldn’t speak ill of the dead. Perhaps, in his heart, he wished he knew more. But anger eclipsed the sadness and the regret. 

“The spear was our grandfather’s, you have no more claim to it than I do,” he said, gesturing at her back. “And instead, I get a weapon that doesn’t tell secrets.”

“What secrets do you want to know?” she said, furious. “The death? The destruction? Of how a single woman determined our fate and our father followed it through? How they knew, Alexios, for months, about what the oracle had said but the Kings had not yet decided to act upon?”

“What?”

“They knew, brother. They knew you were condemned and did nothing. When you were born you were presented, as we all are, and the oracle decided your fate as a destroyer. Our parents knew, but waited for the Kings to pass judgement. They waited, in Sparta, with the chance of their baby, their youngest baby, could be thrown from a mountain, and did fucking nothing.”

Her breath came fast, revealing the true nature of her anger. She was angry at her father for throwing her, sure, but she was more angry at her parents for knowing that her brother was under threat and staying their hand, waiting for fate to decide. 

And instead, here she was, play acting as mother, chastising her brother for flaunting death when they should be conspirators in defiance. He should be the one she begged to not tell their parents that she’d been to see a girl, and she should be the one that covered his tracks when he gorged on dessert before dinner was served. He should be sneaking into her room at night to hear her sing the songs of their heroes to him, and she should be teasing his stance with a staff, rather than teaching it to him herself. 

All of this she mourned, but he didn’t know it, as he’d never known what it was like to have the hope of a sibling fade into smoke. 

“When I retrieved you from the bottom of that mountain, I promised that I would do everything in my power to prevent you coming to harm. And that was why: because they did not.”

He looked at her through fresh eyes, and Kassandra resented it. He was still too young to know all this, too young to think of her as a multi-faceted person with hopes and fears. She’d tried to protect him from it, from what the spear could reveal to him, but she realised, too late perhaps, that he’d already known, in his own way. 

She reached behind her back and unsheathed the spear. She fingered the sharp edge, and passed it to him, shaft first. He looked at it like it might burn him, then swallowed, and accepted it. 

No vision. 

So he touched it gingerly, feeling the weight of it and the proportions. He lingered on the leather of the handle, noting the creases where her hand sat.

“My biggest fear is you thinking you’re in anyway less than you are. I will protect you, no matter what, from what is ahead. But I can only do that if we work together.”

“Does that mean I can train with the spear?”

Kassandra smiled lightly, tension slightly leaving her shoulders. If that was the question he asked after such a revelation, he couldn’t have considered it properly. 

“Yes, you can use the spear. But please, if it reveals anything to you, ask me first, then consider it.”

“Why? Would it lie?”

“No, I don’t think so. But even seeing things rarely reveals their true nature.” He handed it back to her, and she sheathed it.

“I’ll race you,” Kassandra said, leaping from her seated position into flight. Alexios was faster than her, but she had longer legs. 

That night, when all was quiet, she asked him about what games he and the kids of Kephallonia played. Alexios regaled her with their reenactments of Achilles and Skamander, of the defeat of the Skylla, and of their own heroes, equipped with reeds from the bay or sticks from the forest. She laughed and laughed at his telling, it reminding her so much of the games she used to play as a child. Then he spoke about how, once, they’d played a game of a mother losing their baby and Deimos being the hero to return it, and how he’d not liked that game. He couldn’t tell the other children why, with them only knowing that Kassandra and Alexios were orphans, and nothing more. So they’d ridiculed him for being a baby and upset at nothing, and he’d stormed away and cried by himself. Then, when his tears were shed, the girl who was going to play the mother came to find him, and told him that they’d decided to play the story of Adrestia following her father into war, never ceasing, instead. Then she’d taken his hand, and lead him back to the group, and they never spoke of it again.


	4. Twenty and Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexios rescues Kassandra from tradition.

One of the benefits of not moving about so much is that you can use doorways, archways, and stairs to mark the years as they pass. One year, you may not have to stoop to enter your bedroom, and the next, the doorway may surpass your own eyes, causing you to crash your forehead into it in the dark. 

Alexios had grown long and lanky. The muscles he had were stretched so thin on his frame that they looked like they could snap if he tested them any further. But he did, everyday, pushing himself by running around the island, collecting easy errands and getting into mischief with his friends. He delivered bread, he intimated bullies into leaving smaller kids alone, he caught fish and sold them: all for drachmae.

Kassandra hadn’t yet assented to him hunting wolves, as she had done at a similar age, but he didn’t really want to, anyway. 

He mainly worked for his friends’ parents, doing the tasks they didn’t want to, and he was good at it. He was cheaper than his sister, but just as capable with the small tasks. Kassandra commented often that he was going to put her out of business. 

Of course, all of their cash earnings went into the same pouch, or pouches, they should say. Buried around their farm, each with only a small amount of their coins: eggs in one basket and all that. Kassandra kept a map of their hiding spots, but even this map was in three pieces around their house, just to make it more difficult to find. She’d developed it to work as an overlay, with each piece being useless without the others. Only Alexios knew where the pieces were, and what they meant. 

Following his heels was Deimos, his constant companion who helped Alexios look threatening to the right people, but those that knew him couldn’t have been frightened by his teeth if they tried: he was a softy, much like his master. Alexios struggled to do any task that required true violence, instead using his words, wits, and persuasion to convince. This was where he and his sister mostly diverged: she was brought into the world to use the blade, he was brought into the world to speak. 

Kassandra thought about it often. Would she be more merciful if she’d had the chance to be a child? Without the decisions that came too young, too early for her to ignore? She held pride in her heart that Alexios had never been faced with such decisions, and found his mercy to be her success, in a way. 

And she didn’t want that to change. If a contract required something small of her, she directed it to her brother, but if it required killing, or uncouth decision making, she took it. She wasn’t glad to use the blade, far from it, but drachmae was drachmae, in the end. She kept a lot of her day from Alexios because she didn’t want him to be party to her decisions, even in that small way. 

She was returning from such a task when she decided to head to the tavern before heading home. The reason she’d chosen their shack all those years ago was because of its isolation: it was a half day’s walk to Sami, she used to be able to make it running in two hours, and it meant that the town didn’t dictate their lives. That had changed with Alexios’ forays into work: he was now in Sami more than she was. She looked for him at his usual haunts: his friend’s houses, the shipyard, the southern beach, but he was no where to be found. 

Performing a mental shrug, she went to the tavern to grab a drink. She took a seat next to the open window that looked to Ithaca, using her time to minutely pick out the ruins and watch the sun go down. 

“Kassandra!”

She looked back into the room, her eyes unable to adjust fully before the man who’d spoken the words sat opposite her. 

“Good day?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. _Tadeas_, the weaver’s son. His hair was brown, his skin honeyed. His ocean coloured eyes leapt from his face under the dark brown hair of his brows, lending his cheekbones depth that they didn’t deserve. He’d been pursuing her since she was fifteen, and she was sick of it. 

“I just finished up with my mother: I was fixing her loom, not doing the weaving myself, of course, that’s women’s work. Just doing the woodwork,” he said, looking down at her cup.

“Oh?” she replied quietly, picking her cup back up and, rather than drinking, merely pretending. 

“Yes, the beam was broken. I’m good with wood, as you know. I’m hoping to sell my carvings.”

“Oh,” Kassandra muttered again, hoping her lack of offering would make him disappear. She didn’t want to talk to him. She wanted to muse about her day by herself while the touch of the sun warmed her skin. Then she wanted to go home. 

She realised too late that he’d asked her a question.

“Sorry, what?” she said.

“What did you get up to today? I told you about my day, it’s just polite to tell me about yours.”

“I was working, you know. Killing men, saving damsels.”

He looked at her, then down at the hands holding her cup. Then he laughed, like she was telling a grand joke. 

“You women and your jokes. My sister’s the same, always telling jokes of grand things that she’d done.”

“I know,” Kassandra said, angrier this time. “We talked about it after I bedded her.”

Tadeas didn’t laugh then. “You what?” he asked quietly. 

“Does it really matter?” Kassandra replied. “I told you about my day, now toddle off.”

“Kassandra, you watch your tongue, I was here to do you a favour.”

“Oh and I guess I was expected to meekly accept?”

“It’s not everyday that a man of my standing stoops to considering you.”

“Considering me? For what?”

“To get to know better.”

“To get to know better,” Kassandra mimicked, deadpan and disbelieving. Men really were this bad, weren’t they. She usually only dealt with them for business, rarely because she chose to. Not that she had never bedded a man, but she was incredibly discerning. Women were both easier and more fun. Tadeas had never even crossed her mind. 

“Yes, you’re getting old and I thought your brother could do with some good masculine influence. Everyone has seen him running about the island, begging for a strong hand.”

Kassandra tilted her head slightly to the right, looking to and finding Tadeas’ artery just under the skin of his neck. She could just nick it and be out of here, and he’d never bother her again. 

It made her smile slightly, and Tadeas smiled back, seemingly forgetting the distinct disdain she’d shown to him. 

“What do you say? We can have some wine and get to know each other.”

“No,” Kassandra said, abandoning her cup and standing. He stood up with her, his balled fists pushing him from the table between them.

“No?” he replied, anger lighting his face. “It wasn’t a request.”

Kassandra collected her cloak and laid it over her arm. “So, what? It was a command? That’s hilarious.”

She went to move around him, but he blocked her path out of the tavern. Everyone else seemed to be ignoring them, looking to their drinks. Whether this was because they knew she was about to slice him and didn’t want to incriminate her, or because they thought she deserved a strong husband finally, she couldn’t tell.

“I suggest you move,” Kassandra said, again tilting her head. 

“No, I came in here for a wife, and I’ll not leave without one.”

“Then you came in vain. Hestia help any wife of yours.”

He lifted his hand above his head, ready to strike, but she didn’t flinch. Her body made to react, but before it needed to, Tadeas’ arm was restrained from behind by a familiar hand. 

“She told you no, Tadeas. Try again tomorrow, and maybe you’ll have better luck.” Alexios released Tadeas’ arm, and the man cradled it, Alexios’ fingers leaving red marks on his skin. Though Alexios was only just entering manhood, only just thirteen, he stood at the same height and was a similar build to most men in the town: he’d had the benefit of good nutrition and constant exercise, without the concern of poverty. 

Tadeas looked him over, considering his options. Then he put his hands up defensively, and Kassandra was able to move around him and exit the tavern with her brother. People were looking between the siblings then, perhaps for the first time considering them as equals, and Alexios’ changing status from child of the island, to entering adulthood. 

Alexios lead Kassandra up the hill, to the road home. 

“I looked for you in Sami, when I’d finished, but couldn’t find you anywhere,” she said. 

“I wasn’t in Sami, I was just outside of it. With Xanthe.” He didn’t look at her as he said it, but something in the tone made Kassandra not enquire further. 

“If you have questions about … about that sort of thing, you know you can ask me, right?” 

Alexios laughed at her, thumping her on the shoulder. Though he was of similar height to the men of Sami, she was still at least a head taller. “I’ll be sure to remember that next time you almost murder a man who proposes marriage.”

“You weren’t there the last time he did it, he told me he was going to follow me home. Only Deimos kept him at bay.”

Alexios sighed sadly. The wolf that had accompanied him since he was eight was slowing down. He hoped that he would be around a bit longer, but couldn’t be sure. 

“He won’t take no for an answer, Alexios.”

He hugged her shoulders as they walked, rubbing them slightly. She leant into the touch. It wasn’t just that Tadeas was awful, and that she had no intention of getting married anytime soon, but she was also aware of how much she valued the relationship she had with Alexios. They were their family unit, and she basked in it, punishing anyone who threatened it. But her brother was growing up, and she was twenty now. In Sparta, she would be rejecting offers left and right, or her father would be rejecting them for her. Alexios would no longer be at home: training, sleeping and eating with the other boys. They would have still seen each other, but they might not have known each other so well. 

“Do you know what Xanthe told me?” he asked. Kassandra shook her head, so he continued. “She said that she was expected to marry soon. That because her father was dead, her brother would accept her marriage. That when she was married, she’d be expected to never leave her house except for errands for her household, speaking only to her husband. She said that men had already offered to marry her: men of thirty years old or more. Only her begging had prevented it, but her brother already called her a burden. I don’t know why she told me that.”

Kassandra poked him in the ribs. “Because she likes you and hopes you’ll marry her, you fool.”

“Oh, I know that,” he said quickly. “But there’s nothing I can do about what her brother or the men say. I don’t want a wife right now, and I can wait because I’m a boy. But she has to do it now. I asked the farrier about it, and he said that Sparta was different. That women are only married when they’re older and get to choose. And that it is a choice.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Kassandra confirmed. “Marriage is a partnership, the wife runs the farm while the men are at war. The city basically holds based on the decisions of women.”

“Can women marry each other?”

Kassandra huffed. It was one reason she was glad that she was no longer Sparta. “Not initially, I think. Marriage in Sparta is centered around the getting of children. Maybe older women can.”

He nodded, then extracted himself from her shoulders. 

“I found this today,” he said, picking something from his shoulder bag. “It’s for you.”

Kassandra accepted the smooth stone, coloured like the green of the storm. It reflected the light differently depending on how you turned it, cascading the colour. 

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Keep it, it’s all I have for your dowry,” he laughed.

She pushed him on the shoulder, and he ran down the hill in front of her. She ran after him, letting the day release with the puff of her breath. Not for the first time, she was glad that her family were essentially exempt from the tradition around them. Except in instances like the tavern where it intruded lightly, they were neither Spartan nor Kephallonian, and with no parents to tell them the ‘proper’ way of doing things, they were free. 

But that might change before they knew it, and Kassandra felt the tension that had left her return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kass has certified BDE.


	5. Twenty-three and fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cyclops comes calling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for dog death - sorry!

“How could you let it go on this long!” Kassandra yelled. The man in front of her cowered, trying to deflect her words with his hands. “I’m not paying your debts for you, Markos. You wanted a vineyard? You pay for it!”

“But if he comes after me, he’ll come after you next. Then Alexios.”

“And why would that be, Markos? Why would he think this is _our_ vinyard?”

“Because, well, because I told him, I guess, I told him it was?”

“This is the last time I’m doing anything for you. You’re very, incredibly, extremely lucky that I don’t take your head to the Cyclops myself.”

“I raised you!”

“You didn’t raise shit, Markos! Don’t make me truly lose my temper.”

Then Kassandra turned, collected a horse from the stables, and rode home, hoping that she would find Alexios there.

She didn’t make it to the house before Ikaros found his trail on the road leading south, and she turned the horse in response. Was she taking her anger out on the animal she was riding? Yes. Could she justify it by saying that she was in a hurry to ensure her brother wasn’t being threatened by the Cyclops? Also yes.

She lightened her urging when Ikaros directed her to the cliffs, and her heart hung close to her throat. She had full view of the cliffs in both directions, and the bay below, but she couldn’t see her brother. And he was hard to miss: at fifteen his shoulders had grown into his height, even though he was still somewhat lanky.

Kassandra dismounted, leaning slightly over the cliff edge. Ikaros keened at her, and she looked up at him, shrugging her shoulders. _I’m not going to jump, Ikaros._

The bird continued its search, moving up and down the coast until it spied a space in the cliff face, and squawked at Kassandra.

“You’re sure?” she asked the bird as it landed on her arm. It responded, somewhat indignantly. So Kassandra let him take flight, and began down the cliff face. If Alexios was down here, and could physically make it, she could too.

“Brother?” she called. She dropped down to the first edge. If needed, she knew she could climb all the way down, so wasn’t particularly worried about that, but he’d never really hidden from her before. It must be serious, and like all things, it could be her fault.

“Alexios, it’s me,” she called again. Ikaros flew slightly below her, alighting on an edge, guiding her there.

She moved towards it, and found herself at the mouth of a small cave of not so small depth. She lit a torch and followed it in.

“Alexios?” she called, watching her feet on the slippery stone. She didn’t get a reply from him, but she knew the smell of men, and that there were men in the cave.

She extinguished her torch, instead waiting thirty seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Once it had, she removed her bow from her back, readying an arrow.

Then she heard it, a light whimper. “Brother?” she whispered.

“Over here,” he said with a sniff. The words were heavy, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. She put her bow back and moved towards him, feeling for him in the dark.

He was sitting on a stone, his hands in his lap. She felt his face and found it full with tears, the drops streaming into his unbound hair and along his chin.

“What’s happened?” she asked quietly. He was old enough for this to be serious, but young enough for it to perhaps be trivial. A girl’s rejection, an unjust slight, a death, could all elicit a similar reaction. Not that it mattered in the end, her response would be the same. Empathy, possible solution, letting him take the lead in what he needed.

“Deimos,” he replied, passing her what was in his hands. It was fur: the edge of an ear, it felt like.

She waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t, she passed the fur back to him and sat down.

“He was getting old, Alexios. You were eight when I found him, wolves just don’t live that long.”

Alexios shook his head violently, making a garbled noise in his throat.

“They killed him. He was at home when I returned, and they’d gotten him. I told him to stay there because some of the children were afraid of him. I thought he’d just take the opportunity to sleep in the house, or in the sun. They must have come for us and found him there.”

Kassandra sighed, moving to her knees to hug her brother closely. He burst into sobs at their contact, and she ran her hands up and down his back soothingly.

Once his shudders had subsided, she released him, bringing her face close to his.

‘What would you like to do about it?” she asked. Alexios laughed at her, a high, nervous laugh that knew the destination of the conversation, but didn’t want to vocalise it all the same. Kassandra didn’t mind, she wanted to keep him gentle, anyway.

“It just so happens that I was on my way to that particular compound this afternoon,” she said. “I need to remind a certain child of Poseidon that he doesn’t own this particular island.”

Alexios breathed in fully, no longer crying. “I’m furious,” he said. “I’m so angry that I can barely feel sad. And it’s because of the Cyclops. He’s been after you for as long as I can remember. Perhaps we should both visit him.”

Kassandra hesitated. He was fifteen. He was nearing manhood, but he was not yet there. She knew he had the skill. She didn’t know whether her hesitation was because she was concerned about his safety, or because she wanted to preserve the last remnants of his innocence. Considered fully, she guessed that his innocence had little to do with the mercy in his heart, or the consideration he gave to words and rhetoric over combat. She’d taught him to fight, sure, but he only deigned to use it when nothing else had worked. He definitely deserved to avenge his companion, and Kephallonia deserved to be rid of the one eyed man.

Still, Kassandra hesitated.

“Are you sure? I could deal with it myself.”

He shook his head. “I’m sure. You’ve been cleaning up this island’s messes for long enough. I want to come.”

“It’ll be dangerous. We will have to work together and stick to the plan.”

“I know.”

“And there’s no guarantee it’ll work. We might end up in bigger trouble than we started with.”

“I know.”

“And it won’t bring Dei-”

“Kassandra, I know,” he replied with the full force of his voice, filling the cave with it. She was struck by it, not because he used it, but because of how _rumblingly low_ it was. Either she’d never noticed his tenor, or he’d only used it to get her attention.

“What the heck was that?” she asked.

“What?”

“Your voice! It went all low.”

“Yeh, Kass, my voice is low now.”

They both laughed, conspirators in a cave above the sea.

“C’mon,” she said, moving towards the entrance of the cave. “We should do this today, before the sun goes down.”

\--------

They walked home, planning their next move. Alexios had a greater knowledge of the Cyclops’ compound than Kassandra expected, making her question how often and for what reason he had such knowledge.

“We should attack from the south,” he said. “The hills will give us protection and he houses himself in the southern part.”

“No,” Kassandra replied. “One, he won’t be home, and two, it’s too close to our home. After what they did to Deimos I think they’ll be expecting reprisal to come from the south.”

“Ok, then. The north. Same point about the hills, we can get Ikaros to extract his location and try to get him there.”

“Why are we trying to only get him, when he has a hundred henchmen?”

Alexios didn’t answer her, but instead looked at her with a question on his face.

“We could weaken them, removing them one by one over the course of the day, then attack him when he’s most vulnerable: either shitting or sleeping. Then when he calls for help, there won’t be anyone to answer him.”

“Kassandra, that’s so ruthless. Do you approach everything like this?”

“What? Yes? Did you want to ask him nicely first?”

“No, but I thought we could spare his men at least? It’s not really their fault.”

“And what are you going to do when they attack you? Apologise and ask where their master is?”

“No, don’t be stupid. But doing it so … systematically seems wrong.”

“Nothing about this is right. Men gain power, then abuse it.”

“Ok, what about a distraction? Start a fire, probably in their grain stores, and then pursue the Cyclops when his men are attending it? Same result, less death.”

“What about the deaths caused by starvation from burning their food?”

“Kassandra.”

“Alexios.”

They walked on in stoney silence, Kassandra building her case for the ‘kill everyone' plan, and Alexios thinking of a solution that tore out the root of their problem.

“Can you be sneaky?” he asked.

“Of course I can be sneaky,” she replied. “When did you learn to sneak?”

“Getting into and out of girl’s houses, of course.”

She scoffed, the reaction she knew he was looking for.

“Ikaros finds him, we wait until he is shitting or sleeping, then kill him silently. And leave before anyone can find us there.”

“Thanks, I hate it,” Kassandra replied.

“I thought you would. Still, solves all the problems.”

Alexios stopped just short of their farm, suddenly remembering that Deimos was still where he’d found him. Kassandra rubbed his back slightly, and walked ahead. She found the wolf at their back door, cut to pieces. His coat was covered in blood, and he looked to have at least tried to escape into the house before being cut down. Kassandra moved her hands over his coat, and stood up to retrieve a blanket from the house, covering him up. His eyes were closed: he could be sleeping.

She beckoned to Alexios and once he reached their house, Kassandra equipped a short blade, in addition to the spear and bow that she had been carrying. She liked it for its ability in close combat. Alexios reached for his spear, preferring to keep as much distance between himself and his adversary as possible. It also served as a poignant reminder that he was armed, and sometimes that was all it took for a de-escalation.

They then walked to the compound, not speaking, but instead moving in companionable silence. Alexios would be lying if he said that he was motivated purely by Deimos, but the brutality of the wolf’s death had galvanised him. He was glad that his sister was with him: she could probably bring resolve to the task that he could not.

Once they were at the compound, however, any thought of sneaking disappeared from their mind. The Cyclops was drowning a man in a barrel, as he called for mercy from the Gods.

“I swear it,” he yelled, gasping for breath. “I was calling for the Cyclops of-” His words were drowned in the barrel.

“No. One. Calls. Me. That.” The Cyclops said.

Alexios looked to Kassandra, and saw her mind turning. “What are you thinking?” he whispered.

“You follow ten paces behind me, covering my back. I’ll head down that corridor on the left and kill the men I come across. Stay ten paces behind, do you hear me? Ten paces.”

“Ten paces,” he repeated.

“And unless I am near death, do not reveal yourself.”

“Kassandra-”

“No, I’ll be more effective if you listen.”

He nodded, and then she was gone, striding down the pathway. He followed behind her, matching her footfalls to make less noise. He watched her dispatch three guards before even reaching the courtyard where the Cyclops was torturing the man. She hesitated slightly, no one noticing her, and descended on the man whose death was least likely to alert the others. She was out in the open now, and Alexios remained hidden, per her instructions, drawing an arrow and nocking it. She had moved below his line of sight, aiming to surprise the man watching the events with his back to the bay. She must have been focused as she moved forward, because another man noticed her and drew back his arm to retrieve his bow.

Alexios hesitated for just a moment. Not long enough to matter, in the end, but long enough to grasp the gravity of the act. _He was about to kill this man._ The thought had little to no bearing on his actions, as he drew back his arm and sent an arrow through the man's neck. Kassandra heard the blood spurting and turned, finding the dead man at her feet. She then looked to Alexios’ hiding spot, and locked eyes with him. He could see her silently acknowledge the milestone, and he knew they would talk about it later, but for now, she had to relieve the Cyclops of his quarry.

To Alexios’ disbelief, she walked right into the centre of the courtyard, swinging her short blade as she walked. He watched closely, and saw her retrieve a bright rock from her pocket.

“Let him go,” she said simply, letting her voice carry.

“You!” The Cyclops yelled, pointing at her. “Did your brother find my little gift to him?”

“Yes, and I’ve come to collect.”

The man was under water during the exchange, and the Cyclops turned his attention to him, letting him go slightly.

“No one on this island is allowed to say that word!” he yelled at the semi-conscious man.

“Did he call you the Cyclops?” Kassandra said patronisingly. “Did he hurt your feelings?”

Alexios gasped under his breath. If he’d have known that she was this brazen on her jobs, he might have been more worried for her.

“I don’t like it when people call me that!”

“But you’re so fat - I mean, big and strong. And you do only have one eye.”

Alexios couldn’t see what she held up, but could guess what it was. The Cyclop’s obsidian eye: his prized possession, an expensive piece of rock. Alexios couldn’t think of how it could possibly have come into his sister’s possession.

“Give it to me, and I won’t have Markos killed for having you steal it!”

So, that at least answered Alexios’ question. He nocked an arrow, bringing his shoulders down and freeing his awareness, preparing to shoot should his sister's technique of brazen energy fail.

While he did a mental checklist of this action, Kassandra had looked about her, almost sheepishly, and locked onto a goat that had wandered too close.

“You want it?” she said, confidence returning to full force. She then leant down, holding the goat by the tail, and moved the obsidian into its arse. She finished by slapping the goat, sending it careening towards the safety of the hills. “Go get it.”

Alexios would never understand his sister. She could have negotiated. She could have at least _quietly_ challenged the Cyclops. But no. She had to goad him, and force herself into combat with five or so men, including the Cyclops.

Alexios moved away from his hiding spot and leapt up onto the roof, giving himself a vantage point from which he could direct his arrows.

He started on the archers who had done exactly as he had, and who were aiming for Kassandra as she fought. He started with the ones at the back, and moved in rings closer to his sister. He didn’t want to shoot anything close to her, she was too fast and he might hit her.

Once the archers were taken care of, Kassandra was down to three adversaries: one who looked to be a grunt, one who looked to be a Captain, and the Cyclops. All were attacking her in unison, and he could see the cuts they made on her skin from where he crouched.

He made a decision, or rather, the decision was made for him. He unsheathed his spear and charged the smallest man, driving it through his back, letting the point protrude from his chest. The man dropped, and Alexios let go of the spear. He flexed his hands back and forth, the juddering movement of the kill surprising him. He was breathing fast, his body was trembling. He didn’t notice anything else, just the blood leaving the body of the man through the hole that the spear had made.

The hole that Alexios had made.

He heard further groaning around him, but noticed none of it. Until a hand on his shoulder brought him back.

It was Kassandra, covered in blood, but no longer under attack. He looked behind her and saw the Cyclops lying on his front, the skin below his ears shredded to the bone.

“It was easier with a bow,” he said.

“I know,” she replied. She took his arm and pulled him up. Then she gestured at the half-drowned man. “Please take this man north, to the point. I’ll be there soon, once I’ve sorted out here.”

Alexios nodded, and began to run north with the man. He didn’t look at him, but knew he was old by the creaking in his knees as he ran.

Kassandra caught up with them as they reached the point, holding Alexios’ spear, as well as bags of arrows and drachmae.

“You searched the bodies?” Alexios asked, astounded.

“Waste not, want not,” she replied. “And who are you?” she asked of the old man.


	6. Twenty-four and Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassandra and Alexios take Megaris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I misspell Nikolaos I apologise! The spelling is so close to my son's name that I make mistakes.

The day was unseasonably hot. It was midsummer and the hills sung with the acknowledgement that the plants were wilting and the animals were soon to be without enough water. Their house’s position on the southern tip of the island meant they were well placed to receive whatever rain came across the sea, and Kassandra had been collecting water since their first encounter with Barnabas in the winter. 

_The wisdom says that this summer will be a dry one_, he’d said.

_What wisdom is that?_ she’d replied.

_The wisdom that comes from years at sea and countless old men’s theories,_ he’d laughed.

But she’d listened, and figured that even if the theories were wrong, she’d prefer to be prepared anyway.

So she’d collected water in pots, placing them below the gutters that Alexios had installed, and collected the rain as it fell. And she hadn’t regretted it. 

The main way the weather had affected them was the loss of most of their income: people weren’t asking for errands as much and there seemed to be less need for bloodshed. Though the siblings had plentiful money, and grew their own food, it still agitated her. It meant that she couldn’t be discerning with the contracts, and had to take larger ones in order to supplement them. 

She even took contracts from strangers, now. 

“I heard a tip off that there was a well dressed man at the house south of Sami, you know, the one with the new roof?” Alexios bit into the apple that she’d thrown his way. He lounged, back against the wall, with one knee folded under him and one leg straight. “Anyway, I’d heard that he had come here with armed men and was ordering them about. Do you think that he thinks that he’s the new Cyclops? Maybe he sees a power vacuum and intends to fill it.”

Kassandra shook her head. “I doubt it. Word reached everyone of the Cyclops cut to ribbons. He might be a merchant.”

“Are you going to take that chance?” he asked. 

She surveyed him, watching his jaw move with the apple. He was so strong now, stronger than she was, but he’d learnt both humility and mercy: from where, she didn’t know. She smiled slightly and he smiled back.

“What?” he said, spraying the ground with apple juice.

“I’m just so proud of you,” she said simply. 

“Oh, don’t,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“No, it’s true! You’re just such a great kid!”

“Please, stop. Thank the Gods that there’s no one around to hear you.”

“Why? You think Kephallonia isn’t acutely aware of how I stand behind you in the agora while you sell fish and admire the man you’re becoming? It’s not embarrassing!”

“Yes, it is.”

“Hey Alexios.”

“What?”

“I love you and I’m proud of you.”

“Shut up.”

“Never.”

“Can we get back to it please? The man? With the men?”

“I’ll go and ask him if he needs anything done, that’ll make me both known to him and also figure out if he’s here nefariously.” She stood and turned to head into the house, walking passed where he was sitting.

“Hey Kass?” She turned, looking down at him. “I love you too.”

She stroked his hair, and went to retrieve her spear.

\--------

She walked up to the house, blades hidden, as if a neighbour to their new acquaintance. She noted the weaponry that sat in a cart and a small trunk sitting by the front door. Whatever this man wanted here, he was travelling light. 

Kassandra knocked lightly on the doorframe, peering into the darkened room. “Hello?”

“Yes?” a voice asked. “Can I help you?”

“I came here wondering if I could help you. I run errands and complete tasks for people, and I wanted to know if you needed help with anything?”

A man walked towards her and stood just in front of her. He was older, with brown hair and a blue himation draped over one shoulder. His neck held a golden necklace, but it was his eyes that she was drawn to. They peered into her depths and knew all of her secrets.

“And who are you?” he asked.

“Kassandra,” she replied, taking a step back from him. 

“Kassandra of …?”

“Just Kassandra.”

“Well, Kassandra, it just so happens that your reputation precedes you, and I was hoping you could help me with a task. Come, sit. It is a delicate matter.”

Kassandra nodded and followed him into the room. There was only sparse furniture, no rugs or cushions or art. Some scrolls, but not many. This man wasn’t planning on staying.

He sat while Kassandra remained standing. Though he gestured for her to take a seat, her instincts were on high alert, and she trusted them first. 

“My name is Elpenor,” he said, looking down to sift through some papers. “The task I have for you will take you beyond Kephallonia, I’m afraid. Do you mind?”

Kassandra instinctively shook her head. If she didn’t like the contract, she didn’t have to take it: but she was conscious of their need to maintain their income. Alexios would be fine, anyway, if she had to leave the island for a time. He wasn’t a child anymore. 

“Good,” Elpenor said. “Tell me, how do you feel about killing a General in Megaris?”

“Generals bleed like anyone else,” she replied with a shrug.

“Good.”

“Who is this General?”

“They call him the Wolf of Sparta, and he’s bad for business. I need someone invisible, someone that can slip between the Spartan and Athenian armies.”

“I accept,” she said simply.

He seemed surprised at her easy acceptance. “Splendid. You’ll need a boat. You have one, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Good, I hope it’s sturdy. War is coming, and the Wolf is on the wrong side. Find me in Phokis when it is done.”

Kassandra nodded and walked out of the room. Once she was out of the estate, she ran.

Her feet fell heavily, her spirit transcending the effort it took to sprint up the nearest hill. When she got there, she screamed so loudly that she knew the Gods heard her. Then she fell to her knees, clutching at her hair with her fists and letting the anger fall away from her with her tears. 

Her mind threw back to when she was just a child, a tiny child, sitting on her family’s kitchen table eating peaches. Her legs dangled below her and juice spilled from her mouth onto her clothing and bare legs. Her father had bounded in, taking joy in her startled fright and happy realisation that it was just her pater. He knelt down and kissed her forehead, making sure his beard didn’t get remnants of peaches in it. 

_You’re ravenous, child!_ he’d said.

_Like a wolf!_ she’d replied. 

_The Wolf of Sparta_, he’d confirmed.

She’d giggled, then pointed at him. 

_No no, pater! You’re the Wolf of Sparta!_

Kassandra had named him, and it had stuck throughout his campaigns. Even the Kings referred to him as such, gifting him a helm with a wolf leaping from the head. 

Kassandra then started laughing, realisation truly hitting. 

She’d been contracted to kill her father. She’d been promised money to do something she’d always intended on doing anyway. And he was in Megaris. Just a boat ride away. 

She clutched for her emotions, retrieving calm. Then she walked to Sami to speak to Barnabas about a trip she had to make. He’d said that she would be welcome to use the ship for anything, and she thought he was on the verge of making her its commander. 

\--------

“You’re what?”

“I’m going to Megaris.”

“Kassandra, war is brewing. You could say that it’s brewed, in reality.”

“I know, that’s why I’m going. You’ll be okay here, you have friends and enough work to get you by.”

“No, I’m coming with you. There is no way you’re walking into a warzone alone after what I witnessed at the Cyclops’. You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Alexios, I’m not discussing this with you. I’ve dec-”

“Good, because I’m not discussing it either. I won’t back down.”

Kassandra sighed. She’d decided to keep the contract from him completely, hoping that she could cleanly kill their father then return with the thousands of promised drachme. She wouldn’t be able to maintain the ruse if he came with her. 

“Kassandra,” he said, using a softer, and she knew what was meant to be a more convincing, tone. “I don’t want to be left here, there’s no excitement here. It’s always the same. You catch fish, you catch goats, you sell them. A pretty girl smiles at you, you smile back, her husband’s men try to come and beat you, you go home, and do it all the next day. I’m sick of it. Please let me come.”

She looked at him, running her eyes from his face to his hands. She’d lost the fear of him being killed years ago, mainly because nothing on the island could match him. But that would change out in the world. Fights would find him, and one day he might be outmatched. 

Kassandra didn’t answer him, but instead walked over to the trunk she was packing and picked up her bracers. They were old, very old, and the leather had worn through in some of the lacing holes. It needed replacing desperately. She looked from the bracer to her brother. He wore a chiton, cut just above the knee with a slit to the side of it. He had shoulder guards, but no true armour. She’s made him some, years ago, from the she-wolf’s pelt. But he’d long since outgrown it.

She sighed, and gestured to him. He walked over to her and she hugged him, letting his shoulder length hair tickle her face. She breathed deeply, taking in his scent of sweat and grass. She let the moment of peace engulf her, and she didn’t know if this would be the last of it. If he came, he might be killed, but that might be true even if he stayed. She knew that the husband who constantly tried to beat him was Xanthe’s, and that that wound had never really healed for him. She also knew that one day, he might take his liberties with the girl too far and find himself at the mercy of the towns people who valued tradition over the pseudo-Kephallonian. Alexios was sixteen. He was old enough to come. 

“Okay,” she whispered into his hair. “But I have to tell you, I was contracted to help the Spartan side of the war effort. So if you’re coming, you should know that you’ll have to help too.”

He didn’t say anything, but she felt the tension slide from him. 

\--------

Before setting sail, Kassandra arranged for Alexios to be fitted for leather armour from the blacksmith. Light protection, but he would have to train with anything heavier, and they didn’t have time. 

They sailed for a day before coming to Megaris, and Barnabas expertly managed an Athenian blockade, sending them into the bay. Kassandra had prepped Alexios to not speak so much, and to ensure his weapons were visible. He still favoured his spear, but had a host of short blades hiding within his armour, essentially his equivalent to Kassandra’s short spear. 

Though he’d trained with it, and liked the feel of it, he and Kassandra had rolled dice for it and she had won its use fair and square. He wasn’t really upset about it: he still had nightmares about the vision he’d had when he was a child, and didn’t want to experience anything like it again. 

When the Adrestia docked, Kassandra took the lead up the beach towards the Spartan camp. She was ten paces away from someone who looked important, or may be able to direct her to someone important, when Alexios’ hand grasped her from behind. She turned to look at him questioningly, and he nodded towards the trees further up the beach. 

Athenians were emerging from them, running towards the man she was intending to approach. She watched as he used his shield and spear to take out two men at once, while his comrades took care of the rest. Then he gestured to an older man standing closer to the camp who stood to address the Spartan soldiers.

“See how the Athenian dog Perikles fears you!” he yelled. His voice was raspy, toned with years of labour. It stirred something in Alexios, but he ignored it. It stirred something in Kassandra, too, and she’d come here specifically to act on it. The old man walked back to the Spartan camp, disappearing into a red curtained tent.

Kassandra pushed past her brother and walked to the man she’d originally intended to speak to, announcing her presence with a cough.

“You were the one who destroyed the Athenian blockade?” he asked, hands sitting behind his back and pride in his voice.

Kassandra immediately hated him. “They were in my way.”

“Sparta owes you thanks. You arrived in time to watch my pater achieve a glorious victory.”

“What’s your name?” Kassandra asked, tilting her head slightly. Alexios knew that head tilt, and poked her to bring her back from the brink of murder. 

“Stentor, commander in Megaris. My pater, Nikolaos of Sparta, is the army’s General.”

“If you’re his son, where’s your mother?” Kassandra asked.

Stentor looked like he would strike her. His nostrils flared and his fingers begged to hold a blade to her throat. 

“Nikolaos adopted me, trained me, made me a spartiate.”

“So you don’t have a mo-”

“We’ve come to pledge our swords,” Alexios said, loudly, not letting Kassandra say anything more. 

Stentor turned to him for the first time, looking to have not noticed him at all before. They stood at the same height, and Stentor looked towards Alexios’ spear and smiled lightly. 

“Is that so,” he said defiantly. He glanced towards Kassandra, then directed the rest of his speech to Alexios. “Megaris is firmly in Athenian control. We need to weaken them, then we will meet them on the battlefield. Can you assist with this?”

“Yes,” Alexios replied, keeping his eyes trained on Stentor. He didn’t know why Kassandra was goading him when this was why they were here in the first place. 

“Good. Do so, and join us in battle when it comes. There will be rewards for you.”

Alexios nodded and dragged his sister by the arm down the beach, towards the trees on the southern side. 

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Prideful Spartans are awful, just awful,” she replied, looking down at her feet. 

“Why are you lying to me, sister?”

She looked up at him, and groaned. 

She didn’t think she’d see him on the beach, as soon as they landed. She thought she’d have some time to ease into it. But peeking through her anger was shame. She’d glimpsed her father for the first time in years, since Taygetos, and she felt ashamed that she wanted to run to him so he could hold her. She wanted his comfort, and wanted his love. She’d wanted him to stroke her hair and tell her that she was his pride. But instead, it was thrown in her face that he had chosen Sparta, and chosen another Spartan child to train for war. 

“Kassandra?”

“The Wolf is our pater,” she said quickly. “Nikolaos is our pater, Alexios.”

Alexios stilled, but didn’t otherwise react. She was afraid to look at him, afraid of her own emotions being reflected back at her. 

“The old man?” he asked quietly. 

She nodded, her heart in her throat. 

“That’s why you asked about Stentor’s mother.”

She nodded again, still refusing to look at him.

“What was the contract for, Kassandra?”

She sighed, letting the sea air fill her lungs and sting her nose. 

“For the Wolf’s head.”

Alexios gasped. It was coming together for him now: from her initial disallowing him to come, to how weird he found it that she would accept to fight for the Spartans.

Then he thought deeper. He’d been within striking distance of his father, and not known. Alexios had found his voice a galvanising force, begging him to fight. But there was something else there, too. Comfort. Home. Love. Everything he’d always felt with his sister was now coming out of a stranger’s mouth. 

“Are you going to fulfill the contract?” he whispered, so low that the wind nearly carried the words away.

She looked at him then, and found uncertainty in his eyes. He was too young for this, too young for any of this. She saw light pleading in them too, as if he hoped against hope that her answer would be no.

“Yes,” she said simply. 

Alexios considered her for a moment, then started walking up the hill behind them. “Then let’s weaken the Athenians, win the battle, and meet our pater.”

\--------

“I hear good things from my commanders, you two,” Stentor said, his hands invariably behind his back. 

“The Athenian commander is dead and Megaris is ready to fall,” Kassandra replied. 

“Good, then we march to glory.”

Alexios and Kassandra both nodded, with the former having to make great effort to keep his eyes to the front. He wanted to ask Stentor all about Sparta, the home he’d never known. And he wanted to know it through he who might become his brother.

Once they were stationed near the front of the line, Kassandra started whispering instructions to her brother. 

“Keep your ears open more than your eyes. You’ll hear before you see. Stay close to me, we’ll fight together. Be each other’s backs. Don’t forget about your small blades. Don’t do anything foolish.”

He nodded along, blood filling his ears. He’s never truly considered what the price was that he would pay to see his father, but he realised that he was about to pay it in Athenian blood. 

As the Athenians charged, Alexios and Kassandra locked together, him with his spear and she with hers. They didn’t falter as men came for them, and more than once Kassandra caught Stentor looking to them. Most people didn’t need to ask whether they were brother and sister simply because they resembled each other so markedly, but none would doubt how close they were by how they fought. She’d trained him since he was a child; she’d corrected his stance and his hands; and she’d sparred with him since. They were in unison in most things, and she could feel Stentor’s plapitable jealousy.

_You may have a father,_ she thought. _But I have a brother._

She felt Alexios’ arms jar every time his blade hit its target, and she could feel his energy depleting. He was strong and fast, but obviously unprepared for the drudgery that was open battle. Kassandra looked about her and located someone she thought could be a commander. 

“Cover me,” she yelled to her brother, and he responded by turning slightly and sweeping his blade around her. She nocked an arrow and breathed out, sending it flying towards the commander, landing it in his neck. He fell, and she saw some of the Athenians around him scatter at the loss of their General. Feeling confident, Kassandra continued, fighting until she could discern a leader, then sending an arrow through their neck. 

After three or so successful arrows, the field was depleted of Athenians, and any that remained ran into the surrounding wood, bereft of leadership. She turned to Alexios, patting him on the back. He’d dropped his spear, and he was bent double, his hands on his knees. 

Kassandra knew where this was going, and crouched down in front of him. 

“I know it’s a lot. It’s ok to lose your stomach, it’s ok. It’s done now, it’s over.” She spoke to him soothingly, rubbing the tops of his arms. Then he vomited into the blood ridden dirt, adding to the smell of opened bowels and decay. 

Kassandra pulled him up, hugging him to her side. With him, she walked out of the battlefield and towards Stentor, and hopefully, closer to the death of her father.


	7. Sixteen and Twenty-four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassandra and Alexios confront Nikolaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love <3 <3 <3.

_When sunlight hits the smoke of fire, the sky turns a hollow orange. You can see a hint of it even if the fire is far off, and the smoke hasn’t yet reached your nostrils. The sky is the warning, but even if it is a warning you heed, the fire can still come for you all the same._

Once, when Alexios was eleven, he’d come home with a tattered chiton and blood flowing freely from his nose. His growth was ahead of his peers, but not yet being in the throes of puberty, leaving him small and lanky compared to boys only a few years older than him. Dirt muddied his blood as he tried to stem the flow, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to stuff spare cloth into his nostrils so it wouldn’t alarm his sister. 

But she was alarmed. He knew she’d gotten better since: that she was less reactionary now than she was then. She considered most sides, or at least tried to. He thought it might have had something to do with her letting go of the notion that he could turn up dead at any moment. Since he became stronger and more self-sufficient, he’d seen the stress of it melt from her. He also knew it was the trauma of the mountain that made her like this, and that even though she goaded, and fought, and declined people the right to explain themselves, she was _trying_. 

But when she’d seen him with his chiton torn and his face bloodied, her eyes turned murderous before he could explain. She wasn’t even meant to be home, she was meant to be in Sami, and he’d distinctly come home because he thought she wouldn’t be there.

He remembered her eyes turning from fear and concern at seeing him, to gentleness as she helped him clean himself up, to production as she retrieved him new clothes, and eventually landing on a cold and calculating question.

_Who did this?_

He had looked away from her, then, not wanting to betray himself by telling her all she needed to know with his eyes.

_It’s stupid,_ he’d said. 

She’d shaken her head, grasping his hand in her warm fingers in a display of comfort. He’d learnt the technique from her later: to gain the confidence of another, you touch them simply, either a brush of the hand or by passing them a drink, and their secrets are that much closer to being yours. He hadn’t learnt it yet, but knew enough of it to not fall for it. 

_You came home with blood on your chin and dirt on your hands. Who?_

He tried to resist her, tried to prevent himself from revealing the true nature of his injuries. He knew she would turn to the blade as soon as he gave direction, but his resolve was crumbling. Maybe he should explain first. Maybe he should beg and plead. Maybe, this time, maybe this time she would listen. 

_Alexios?_ she’d asked, her voice soft and warm, as it usually was at home. 

_I want promises from you first,_ he’d replied. 

She neither assented nor declined, reserving her anger for those who she thought deserved it. 

_I want you to promise that you will listen to me, and hear what I have to say before acting._

He’d looked at her steadily, refusing to break the eye contact. Another of her tactics that he’d learnt: place the person who has the information in your front and centre, giving them neither room to move nor room to lie. 

_Ok,_ she’d said simply. _Now explain._

_We were playing, and Eusebois’ brothers were watching us from afar. We were playing at heroes, with sticks and things. Then Eusebois got upset because he wanted to defeat the river god but I was already defeating the river god. Then he suggested that we spar for it._

Kassandra had visibly reacted to the word spar, her shoulders flattening, and he could see her collar bones almost poking through her skin. But she’d waited for him to finish.

_I beat Eusebois down, of course. And I was helping him up. He was laughing, like it was great fun. Then his brothers came over and one hit me in the nose._ His voice had diminished to a whisper, and forcing the last sentence out took Atlas’ strength. He knew it was the thing that would kill his friend’s brothers, and possible kill his friend, too. 

He’d been right, and Kassandra initially suggested payback. But he’d made her promise to listen before acting, and so she’d sat, and she’d listened. 

_Eusebois doesn’t have a mother,_ he’d started. _It’s just him and his brothers. If you hurt the brothers, you hurt my friend._

_They should know better,_ she’d replied. _They should have known that I would retaliate._

_Then don’t?_ he’d said simply. _You don’t have to do it._

_Is that what you want?_

_I don’t want them hurt or killed._

_Then I’ll listen to you, Alexios. I won’t retaliate._

He’d watched his sister bend like a reed, and all at his word. It was his first taste of the power of oration to persuade. And Alexios would develop this new power, cultivate it, and leave his spear for if, and only if, it failed. 

\--------

They’d been directed up the hill by a hoplite, and walked steadily. Alexios wanted to run, but instead he placed himself in step with his sister. He knew not to speak, and to wait. Perhaps their pater would say his own piece, and Alexios wouldn’t have to turn against his sister to save his life. 

He didn’t even know why he wanted to spare him. Nikolaos was his betrayer. Nikolaos was the reason for Kephallonia, the reason for his sister’s fall, the cause of his sister’s nightmares and so, so much hurt. Alexios owed the man nothing. Nothing at all. 

And yet, a small voice sought to address the finality of it all. If Kassandra drove a spear through their father, it would be the end of it. Alexios would never know _why_. 

It was then that he pinpointed what was bothering him: a snag in his mind that he’d been almost playfully batting away whenever it emerged. By all accounts, including those small stories of their father that Kassandra had allowed him, as well as Stentor’s words, Nikolaos of Sparta was a doting, nay, _adoring_ father. He’d adored Kassandra, enough to nurture and train her from an early age. Alexios thought back to what the spear had shown him of Taygetos, of the night he and Kassandra had been thrown. She’d sought her father for safety. She’d leaped into his arms in grief and fear. Though the trust was misplaced, she’d still reached for him as a pillar. 

So, _why?_

When they reached the top of the cliff face, Megaris fell below them. The hills were green, even through the smoke of the battle. An orange tint to the sky caused some details in the landscape to be missed, but Alexios didn’t focus on it. 

Nikolaos was standing at the edge, looking towards the land won. His hands were behind his back, making the shoulders of his armour droop slightly. It made him seem older, somehow, like the armour of Sparta was dragging him into the ground and soon he would be below it. 

“So you are the champions who won the day. Tell me your names, heroes, so that I may greet true warriors.” 

He turned and faced the duo, and Alexios realised for the first time that he and Kassandra were matching. The red shawl over her shoulders matched the red sash about his waist, and the colours of their leather armour were the same, having come from the same blacksmith. 

Alexios stepped forward, leaving Kassandra a step or two behind.

“Pater?” he asked, his eyes searching the face of the Spartan commander. 

Nikolaos’ mouth twitched, its corners moving down as it opened slightly, revealing his front teeth. It wasn’t a menacing action, but rather a slackening of muscles in sheer disbelief.

“Impossible,” he stammered, his eyes flicking between the siblings.

“It’s been a long time,” Kassandra said, moving closer to her brother. Her spear was in her hand and she was flipping it over between her fingers. Alexios could feel her heat, but couldn’t take his eyes off his father. 

“How is this possible,” Nikolaos whispered. “I watched you fall.”

“I didn’t fall, you threw me to my death!” Kassandra yelled, gesturing towards the old man. Alexios put out a hand and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. It was protective: a gesture that begged her to stay her hand and let him lead. Still, he didn’t take his eyes off his father. 

“We want answers,” Alexios said simply, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“I did what was required of me as a Spartan. I’ve made my peace with that. You need to as well.”

“I don’t accept that,” Alexios said, shaking his head in disbelief. At least now he knew where Kassandra got her goading nature from. Nikolaos must see the murder in her eyes, and to speak like this regardless took a special kind of hubris. 

“The Oracle decreed that you had to die, Alexios.”

“Then why wait a year between my presentation to the Oracle and Taygetos?” Alexios asked. 

“We pleaded to the Kings to spare you, it was their decision. We couldn’t leave Sparta with royal children, so our only hope was for your mother's cousin to spare you.”

“What?” Kassandra said slowly. “What did you say?”

“The Kings,” Nikolaos repeated. “It was up to them.”

Alexios finally took his eyes off his father and turned them to Kassandra. He could see the cogs turning, her mind no longer on their father’s most vulnerable artery, but at what it meant for the Kings to be able to overturn the Oracle’s decision. 

“You had the possibility of Alexios’ death in your hands, and you waited until your Kings agreed?”

Nikolaos nodded, his eyes sad. “They’re my Kings. Your kin. I will live and die a Spartan, but even Sparta can’t hide from the people who run her. I loved you both, but failed you all the same.”

The sun shone on them then, warming their skin and blinding Alexios’ searching eyes. He was looking into the old man’s face, hoping for something beyond sadness: something that indicated that he was worthy of reprieve, worthy of mercy. Kassandra must have read his mind.

“Mercy is a funny thing,” she said, tilting her head. Alexios’ fingers tightened around her wrist. She didn’t try to shake him off, in fact she seemed to have not noticed at all. “If you show it once, you show it a hundred times. I am not a merciful person and would never claim to be.” She flipped her spear a final time, before it landed perfectly into her deadly grip. “Do you think you deserve mercy, pater?”

He looked between them, his eyes faraway. 

“I didn’t protect you, didn’t protect either of you. Not then, and not since.”

She moved to walk towards him, and Alexios felt his hand slacken, letting her go. 

“There’s a large reward for the mercenary that can collect the Wolf’s head.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

She charged him, and Alexios watched as she pushed their father towards the precipice, herself with him. Alexios reached out a hand, preparing to race to the edge should she fall. That this was his sole concern surprised him: he’d given no thought as to his father heading over the cliff. 

Instead of letting him drop over the edge, Kassandra threw him to the ground behind her. Alexios could see her laboured breathing, her bunched shoulders, the sheen of sweat on her arms. More than anything, though, Alexios could see her _trying_.

Their conversation before the battle came back to him. _Please, we can try to talk to him_, Alexios had said. 

_No,_ she’d replied, shaking her head._ Why do you want to?_

_For answers,_ Alexios had whispered. 

This was her gift to him: he could get his answers. 

The old man was still on the ground where Kassandra had thrown him: diminished, fallen, dishonourable. Alexios crouched down behind him, within arms reach. 

“I grew up in Kephallonia,” he murmured, loud enough for them all to hear, but low enough so the words were unquestionable directed at his father. “Kassandra went hungry so I could eat; she went cold so I could sleep. She did this because you didn’t want to disappoint your city. I’ll never understand it pater, ever. But maybe, just maybe, you could see why if that is what it takes to be Spartan, maybe you shouldn’t want to be.”

Nikolaos looked at him steadily, then held out his hand and stroked Alexios’ cheek slightly. 

“Your sister has grown you into a fine man. I have failed in my duty. I failed to protect you … to protect both of you.”

Alexios stood up and walked over to Kassandra, shielding her slightly. Nikolaos rose to his feet.

“Your mother is still alive,” he said. Alexios looked at Kassandra, eyes showing mild longing. Her eyes remained cold and trained on Nikolaos, waiting. “Myrrine will know more: about that night and what preceded it. It was her cousin we petitioned for you.” 

Nikolaos threw his sword and helm to the ground, and began walking south. 

“Where will you go?” Alexios called.

“To find my honour,” his pater replied. 

After he’d disappeared through the trees, Kassandra dropped to her knees and sobbed. Alexios gathered her in his arms and cried with her, letting the tension move from them into the earth. He didn’t know if they’d made the right choice, both of them showing mercy. But it was done, and their father would answer to the Gods and the earth, for sins against one’s own children sing highest in the annals of hell.


	8. Twenty-four and Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexios and Kassandra visit the Oracle.

The Adrestia made heading for Phokis, Kassandra and Alexios sitting together on her stern. They didn’t speak, each of them processing their father in their own way. 

They both felt shame. They both felt anger. Neither of them felt any peace.

But, of course, there was also the fear. Fear of the other’s disappointment, fear of their mother, fear of the implication that a Spartan king wanted Alexios dead. 

Within the fear, though, the sun bloomed. Blame was a funny thing: directed correctly and recourse and forgiveness can be found. But, when placed at the feet of an ill-deserving party, it can eat the relationship alive. The siblings didn’t know where to assign the blame.

Despite his misgivings and his shattered expectations, Alexios moved closer to his sister and leaned his head against her shoulder. She sighed in response, bringing her hand to his hair, rubbing it slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said roughly. He’d not spoken since they’d left the hill, left Sparta without her General. 

“For what?” Kassandra asked lightly, confusion colouring her voice.

“For making you forgive him.”

Her hand stopped, cupped just around the crown of his head. Then she laughed slightly, a ringing melody that he hadn’t heard in too long. 

“I didn’t forgive him, Alexios. And I never will. Sparing him wasn’t forgiveness. Living with the pain he’s caused and the shame of it will be his punishment. And we are living reminders to him.”

“I didn’t forgive him either,” Alexios said quietly. “I’d hoped to meet our parents for so long, there wasn’t any room for disappointment in them. I thought he’d be like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought it would have turned out that he had no choice and was going to sacrifice me for you, or something. I don’t think I would have minded that as much, if that was the trade. But instead, he traded us both for Sparta.”

Kassandra took her hand out of his hair and placed it around his arm, bringing him close to her. 

“It’s just us, brother, no one else. We trust each other only. Others may come, but those who have passed can never truly know us. I would die to protect you, and have lived for you for years. You’re all I care about. That’s why I spared him: because you asked me to.”

“I know,” he whispered. “Part of me is sorry for asking.”

“Don’t listen to that part. It is your strength, and the part that is so beautiful about you. Never lose it.”

“Commander! We’re approaching Phokis!” Barnabas yelled from the bow.

“I wish he wouldn’t call me that,” Kassandra muttered.

“He thinks you’re Athena,” Alexios said mischievously. 

“Athena can fly.”

\--------

Kassandra held the helm under her arm, readying herself. She’d left Alexios with Barnabas to buy supplies and upgrade their weaponry. Nikolaos had left his sword on the mountaintop, and Alexios had claimed it. 

Kassandra made her way to the house as instructed by Elpenor, and found him in his well stocked library. She hesitated only slightly, feeling the weight of her father’s helm against her arm. It was his identity, his call to both fame and skill. She looked down at the golden metal, and saw her face reflected back at her: distorted, inhuman, bathed in light. It was only a symbol, it wasn’t her father in the helm, but still: Spartan pride and Spartan judgement. 

Kassandra slammed it down onto the wood of the table, sending papers flying.

“Misthios, you were successful in Megaris?”

“The Wolf is dead,” Kassandra lied. But she was a good liar. 

“Excellent,” Elpenor said, throwing a bag of drachmae onto the table. “How did it feel to kill your father?”

“You knew?” Kassandra gasped.

“I love theatre. A child thrown from a mountain by her father, then sent to kill him for drachmae. It’s a tragedy.”

“How long have you been following me?”

“Oh, not long. We lost your trail long ago, and that of your brother. No matter. You’re within our grasp now.”

Kassandra didn’t answer, but let her head tilt to the right. 

“So, tell me, what did he say to you? Wait, no, let me guess. He told you that your mother was alive.”

“Do not speak of her.” Anger was erupting now, her struggle to contain it failing. 

“She’s our next target, after we removed your father.”

“We?”

“Yes, misthios. We are many in number, pervasive, you could say. And your blood is what we seek.”

Kassandra again didn’t answer, but instead touched her weapons lightly, feeling them reverberate through her bones. Her anger was palpable, her eyes murderous. It made little sense to her, but it wasn’t something she couldn’t fight her way out of. Elpenor saw her reach for her weapons, and tutted his mouth. 

“Oh, so disappointing. And here I thought you would have more brains than brawn. But I guess if I wanted brains, I’d enlist Alexios.”

Kassandra leapt for him then, but a heavily armoured guard restricted her arms before she could act. Rolling to the side, she escaped his grasp and drove her spear through the gap in his helmet, sending blood over the scrolls. 

But Elpenor was gone, and his answers with him. 

\--------

Kassandra threw her father’s helm into the ship’s store, hoping to never set eyes on it again. Alexios and Barnabas were playing a strategy game on the deck when she’d returned, full of nervous energy and agitation. 

“What happened?” Alexios called.

Kassandra just shook her head and flexed her fingers, crunching them together. 

“Kass?”

“Elpenor knew the Wolf was our father. He tried to get me to kill our mother next. He kept on mentioning ‘we’, like he was speaking for other people.”

Alexios nodded, questions just beyond his teeth. 

“The Oracle would know,” Barnabas suggested, still contemplating the board that Alexios had abandoned. “Delphi. In the hills behind here.”

“The Oracle is the reason for this all in the first place.”

“Ahh, so she might have your answers.”

Alexios shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”

Kassandra’s mouth chewed at her cheeks, the afternoon still jumping through her brain. 

“C’mon, Kassandra,” Alexios said. “You can think on the ride.”

“I’d rather think on the ship.”

“Yes, but ships will never move over mountains.”

\--------

They rode to Delphi, Barnabas ahead of them. Kassandra and Alexios meandered slightly, letting their horses navigate the rocky paths by themselves.

“So you think it’s a conspiracy?” he asked, mulling over her version of the conversation with Elpenor. 

“I think it’s more than the Oracle, and the Spartan Kings, and our parents, and Elpenor. There’s something beneath it which threatens us. I also think it’s more than us having royal blood, though it might have something to do with it.”

“The Oracle is busy at this time of year, we might only get one question.What do you think it should be?”

“Why, obviously. Why this is happening.”

“I thought you might say that, but I think it provides for the answer to be too ambiguous. I thought ‘where’ might be a better option. We could ask where Myrrine is.”

“That doesn’t sound like information the Gods would have.”

“Then we’ve proven the whole system false and can only blame our parents for Taygetos. Kassandra, if the Oracle is a part of the conspiracy, then ‘where’ might be a gateway. It isn’t too much to ask, it’s easy to answer, it gives us what we need.”

“Ok, ok, don’t snarl at me. We can ask where Myrrine is.”

“I wasn’t snarling. And I think just call her mother: we don’t want to give away such information.”

“Elpenor said that if they were after brains, they would have pursued you,” Kassandra replied. “He was right, of course, but sometimes I wonder where you learnt it.”

“Don’t be silly, sister. I learnt it from you.”

They rode into Delphi and met with Barnabas. Another man was with him, one who both looked and smelt Athenian. 

“This is Herodotus, he’s a scholar,” Barnabas explained. “This is the woman I was telling you about: Athena herself.”

Kassandra furrowed her brow at Barnabas, who shrugged in response. 

“Just Kassandra is fine,” she said in greeting. 

“Have you decided what you’ll ask the Oracle?” Barnabas asked. 

Alexios nodded. “Where our mother is.”

“Seems fairly close ended,” Herodotus commented. 

“We have our reasons,” Kassandra replied lightly, her distrust colouring her voice. “I’ll go and ask the Oracle, Alexios, why don’t you feed and water the horses. I don’t know how long this will take.”

She rubbed his shoulder as she spoke, the touch giving her the courage to approach the Oracle. They’d decided that she would be better placed to ask, and could better deal with any fallout that might occur. Alexios nodded to her, and walked down to the stables with only the horses for friends. 

“Herodotus is seeking passage to Athens,” Barnabas explained. “I told him we would oblige him.”

Kassandra nodded. “Alexios and I can make our own way back to Pilgrim’s landing.”

They parted, and Kassandra made her way to the temple. After brandishing her blades about a bit, the priests let her into the darkened chamber. Smoke ringed around her head as incense and burning sage accosted her nose. 

The Oracle was all in white, sitting among cushions towards the front of the room, two heavily armoured guards standing above her. She writhed slightly, her hips twisting upwards and her knees creating a gap in her dress. It was a performance that Kassandra was unprepared for, and it made her stop short. An unearthly voice beckoned her forward, begging her to speak her question. 

“I want to know where my mother is.”

The Oracle’s eyes shot open, and she fell bodily to the floor. Then her head rose, sweat covering her brow and her lips trembling.

“It’s you,” she said in a startled sing-song. “The child from the mountain.”

Kassandra made no movement, but instead watched the woman return to her back, her head tilting towards each of the armoured guards in turn, as if watching for their reaction. Then she faced Kassandra again, flicking her wrist upwards for Kassandra to walk towards her. 

She was whispering furiously, much of it gibberish. What Kassandra gleaned through the fear was not prophecy, but warning. 

“Kosmos watches everything, their eyes in their snouts and their ears in the island of string. They watch you, they watch me, they watch Selene and Apollo cross the sky. They want the kin, but the kin is yours. Kosmos is your target as you are theirs, your sword their weapon and your spear their watch. Do not fear them, but defeat them, and free us all. Elpenor waits in the belly of a snake.”

The Oracle was pushed bodily back, her small frame hitting the stone floor with a sickening crack. Kassandra reached for her, but was lifted by two men and thrown from the room. 

Kassandra swore heavily, the words replacing the nonsense that the Oracle had spoken to her. 

_Kosmos?_

_Ears in the island of string?_

_Your spear their watch?_

She needed to find Alexios to relay it to him before she lost the sense of it: he would be able to decipher it. But at this point, Kassandra wasn’t sure that ‘where’ was the right question. The Oracle hadn’t mentioned her mother at all, let alone where she was. So much of it was cryptic. 

Kassandra walked first to the front of the temple and observed the soldiers there. They wore distinctive armour: silver and purple, with heavy helms. They were strong, and carried impressive weaponry. Why the sacred Oracle would need such protection, or why they’d pushed her away from Kassandra when all she was saying was gibberish anyway, was a question Kassandra had to figure out. And the Oracle had mentioned Elpenor by name, so Kassandra could confidently say that the merchant, the guards, and the Oracle were all related. Whether this meant that they had hands in Alexios’ death sentence, she couldn’t say. What her father had told her made her think that perhaps there was a link, but she’d need to speak to her mother before anything was definitive. 

She walked down the street to the tavern where she’d directed her brother. Their horses were out the front, happily munching on the provided feed, but her brother wasn’t with them. He was still young, in a new town, and might be making friends, so Kassandra turned to the tavern to search for him. The room was full of pilgrims, but even a cursory glance told her that her brother wasn’t among them. He was so large that he was easy to pick out of a crowd. 

Kassandra walked to the owner of the tavern, getting his attention after a little trouble. Women in this part of Hellas weren’t exactly respected. 

“I’m looking for my brother,” she explained. “He’s seventeen, looks like me, tall.”

The tavern owner looked about him, then leaned towards her to keep his voice low. “He was here earlier, wanted a private room. Upstairs and to the right.”

Kassandra thanked him with a drachmae or two, and headed for the room. The smell of wine seemed to be embedded into the floor, and a hint of blood accompanied it. The smell got stronger the further along the corridor she went, until she unsheathed her spear simply by instinct.

The door was ajar, and she pushed it open with her blade.

“Alexios?” she questioned, but as soon as the word left her mouth she knew it was folly. 

Tables were overturned. Chairs were thrown to the floor. A bowl of broth had broken and seeped into the only rug in the room. There was blood, and she touched it lightly. Sticky. So it was from within the last hour. She couldn’t tell if it was her brother’s blood, but the lack of bodies meant it could have been. 

Then her eyes travelled down to the floor, and to her father’s sword. It was laying under the overturned table, unreachable to Alexios when he’d needed it. Kassandra grasped it and picked it up. It was wet with blood.

Next to it, Kassandra saw a strip of purple cloth and a cut piece of armour, the same as the ones she’d seen at the temple. It was a lead she hadn’t expected, but one she was thankful for.

Her mind turned back, to both Elpenor’s words and the Oracle’s.

_If we wanted brains, we would enlist Alexios._

_Elpenor is in the belly of the snake._

The armour confirmed that the guards of the temple were who attacked her brother. The Oracle’s words connected Elpenor with the guards. 

Kassandra didn’t know this country. She didn’t know if the Oracle’s words were cryptic or literal. She didn’t know how she could keep it together long enough to have her brother back with her. 

Kassandra left the room, her father’s, no, her _brother’s_ sword in hand, and stole into the evening’s twilight, galloping towards Pilgrims Landing and Barnabas, and hopefully, towards her brother.


	9. Seventeen and Twenty-four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassandra searches for Alexios.

“Tell me it again.”

“No, brother, I’ve told you it before, and it’ll remain the same on the fifth telling.”

“Even so, tell me it again.”

“Kosmos watches everything, their eyes in their snouts and their ears in the island of string.”

“Island of string? Who is string associated with?”

“Clotho?”

“No, no, she doesn’t have an island.”

“You’re beginning to sound like the Oracle.”

“Why should I not? I’m not here just as she is not. Tell me it again.”

“They want the kin, but the kin is yours.”

“Kin could be me, or pater, or mater. The ‘but’ confuses me: like it’s opposed.”

“Alexios, why are you torturing me like this. Is Hades so boring?”

“I’m not in Hades, Kassandra, and I think this is the only way for you to cope with the fact that you don’t know where I am. Tell me it again.”

“Elpenor waits in the belly of a snake.”

“Barnabas?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Ask the Oracle. She might know.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too, sister. Now come and rescue me before I die.”

Kassandra gasped awake, her head hitting the beam above her bed. She rubbed it, sending her tingled nerves the clear message that she wasn’t to be trifled with. The wood of the Adrestia creaked all around her and night had fallen, sending a deep blue light into her cabin. Her mind grasped for the memory of the conversation with her brother, not quite understanding in sleep that it had never occurred. 

He was always so reasonable, so thoughtful. He could see the gaps in words that she couldn’t. She cursed herself slightly, coming into the awareness that it had been three days since she’d seen him, and that every minute was her own failure. It felt like a revolving wheel, turning and turning through her head: _my fault, my fault._ No rationalisation could reason with it; no common sense could keep it at bay.

She hopped up, having fallen asleep fully dressed in her armour, and filled her water skin from the barrels. She let it fill to bursting, not expecting to be back at the ship for another day. She then strapped her weapons to her, including her brother’s sword, and leaped over her sleeping men, taking to the dock. 

It was pre-dawn with no hint of moonlight. She didn’t hide her movements: there was no point. If someone was watching her, then her arrogance told them to continue to watch. Alexios would have chastised her, but he wasn’t here. 

It had been years since she’d thought of him as vulnerable. He was so capable, so efficient. But even he could fall when faced with multiple heavily-armed assailants at once. 

_You should have been there._

Kassandra sighed as she mounted her horse, turning it north-west, towards the Chora of Delphi.

\--------

All was quiet when she got there. The sun was sending light across the east, but cocks had not yet crowed and birds were still in their nests. Kassandra dismounted, lending quiet to her feet as she surveyed the property. Two or three of the same guards from the temple: some sleeping, none of them looking to her. She watched as they moved in a circular motion around the house, and timed her movements so they wouldn’t spot her. She climbed the wall and dropped into a courtyard, an open door in front of her. Her nose took in incense and myrrh as she moved into the room. It was lavishly furnished, carpets on every floor and art covering the walls. A bed lay in the corner and it was small enough that Kassandra knew it must contain the Oracle. 

Kassandra began by covering the girl’s mouth with her hand, lest she scream. But the girl woke with lidded eyes, and looked at Kassandra like she was seeing providence.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Kassandra whispered. “I’m looking for my brother.”

The Oracle nodded, and reached up to remove Kassandra’s hand. “I thought it was your mater that you sought?” Her sing song voice transported Kassandra momentarily to the temple and the words that she’d replayed in her mind ad nauseum for three days.

_Kin._

_Spear._

_Snake._

“It was, but they’ve taken my brother. I need to know where to find him. Please.” She tried to keep the pleading from her voice, but it broke through on the last syllable. 

“They? They are wind. They are smoke. You chase a ghost.”

“I chase Elpenor,” Kassandra corrected, trying to hide her frustration. She had no other leads, if the Oracle didn’t help her, she didn’t know what else she would do.

“Ahhh,” the Oracle sung. “Elpenor. Slippery, slimy Elpenor. King of Serpents, Elpenor. Pharsalos, Elpenor.”

“Pharsalos?”

The Oracle nodded, then placed Kassandra’s hand back over her mouth, and collapsed back onto her bed sheets. 

“Thank you,” Kassandra whispered, quietly checking the now sleeping girl’s breathing. Then she left the room, using the same method to avoid detection, and galloped into the northern hills. 

\-------

Kassandra refused to think as she rode. It inevitably turned into anguish, anyway: the _drip drip drip _of her responsibility filling the void. She’d promised him that she’d take care of him. She’d promised him protection and she’d failed. The same conspiracy that sought him as a baby now sought him as a man, and she’d let them have him. 

Her heart knew he wasn’t dead: Elpenor had noted that Alexios was useful to them, so they wouldn’t kill him. She knew that. 

But she also knew that death wasn’t the worst fate that could befall a man. That anguish, fear, alienation, shame all held similar places in men alive or dead. She couldn’t bear the thought of her brother in pain. Ever since he was a baby, she’d made it her purpose to protect him from such pain. And yet. And yet she was riding towards him, hoping against hope that he was both intact and still himself. 

She urged the horse onwards, taking dangerous liberties in the shadowy dark, denying the animal time to find its footing on the steep mountain ridges.

But the sun rose, and before her, she saw the Fort. 

Pharsalos. 

She whistled to Ikaros, sending him ahead in search of her prey. A sharp cry followed by several smaller cries gave her the numbers she’d be facing in the fort, but also the knowledge that Elpenor was inside. 

She dismounted under a rock cleft, stealing into the compound without suspicion. Her feet fell lightly; her spear held loosely in her right hand. 

She climbed first to the top of the closest wall, and retrieved the pouch of power that had travelled with her since Megaris. She emptied about a thumbnail’s size of it into the fort’s beacon. She was careful with it, making sure that none escaped to the outside where it could catch a spark. She turned, gingerly putting the pouch back into her belt when she heard the low growl of a large man. She stopped short, the pouch only halfway to its safe place. She then turned her head towards the noise, and saw an Athenian captain eyeing her, his large sword swinging in his right hand. 

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” he said, slowly moving towards her. Her reactions were still whip sharp, even with the stress of the last few days, and she quickly stuffed the powder further into her belt.

“I’m too much trouble for you,” she replied, her spear in hand. 

He quickly brought his hand to her throat and she strongly batted it away like a cat, denying him purchase. She walked backwards, towards the edge of the wall. She couldn’t risk the open combat that would alert other men to her presence, not with how many Ikaros had told her were here. 

And she still needed to hunt Elpenor. 

So she moved backwards, semi-meekly, never one for planning where blades weren’t the answer.

_That was Alexios’ role. Still is._

She felt the edge of the wall with her ankles, tethering herself forward so as not to fall. Then she let him come, showing fear in her face that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. 

_Let him think you’re weak. _

_Let him think he has you. _

_Let him think he’s a moment away from a meal._

Then he reached for her throat again and she dipped down, forcing her body into the lower part of his legs and catapulting him over the edge of the wall. He screamed on the way down, then a sickening crunch said that he was dead. 

She peeked over the edge, and saw his body smashed on the rocks below. It could have been an accident. 

She didn’t stay, instead moving towards the place where Ikaros had identified Elpenor. The morning light would lead to men waking, breakfasting, and general hubbub, and she wanted to be gone well beforehand. 

She dropped down to just below the sight of the wall, and maneuvered herself laterally. He was in the upper part of the fort, she knew, and she had to remain undetected. 

Ikaros keened, letting her know that she was close. She listened first for footsteps, then for breathing, pinpointing exactly where her target was below her. Then she dropped, sending her spear through his shoulder, his blue clothing turning black with his blood. She clapped her hand over his screaming, silencing him, then turned him to look at her. 

It wasn’t Elpenor. Despite his identical clothing, manner, and footfalls, it wasn’t him. 

“Where is Elpenor?” Kassandra snarled, unable to hold back her temper. The man laughed against her hand, and she sliced his throat, sending her pain and anger through the blade and searing his flesh with it. She searched him, breathing hard at yet another failure. 

If she’d been sharper, she might have seen through the ruse.

If she’d been quicker, she might have been able to catch up with Alexios in the first place.

If she’d been a better sister, none of this would have happened. 

She found a letter on the man, one with a familiar scrawl.

_I await your success in the cave behind the Snake Ruins._

Kassandra crushed the note in her hands, tearing it apart. Belly of the Snake. 

Reckless, she ran towards a bowman’s mount, threw him off it, and galloped to the south-east, arrows trailing behind her. 

\--------

She galloped until the sun was well and truly moving towards the west, casting her shadow in front of her and making her face dark. She needn’t think. She needn’t worry. She would be at Elpenor’s door soon. 

Ikaros alerted her to hostility over the next crest, and she paused her horse, listening. Crunching of feet. Muttering of relaxed voices. Some yelling and swearing at slaves. A crackling of a fire. People preparing for the end of their day. 

But Kassandra wasn’t finished with them yet. 

She dismounted, unhitching the bridle from the horse and sending it down stream. Then, keeping her feet to grass rather than rocks, she dispatched five heavily armed guards in quick succession. Feeling her hands tremble, she allowed herself a moment of collection and calm. She then turned to the ridge above her, climbing until the pathway to the cave was below her reckoning. No more movement from the Snake Ruins caught her attention, and she took this to mean that she and Elpenor wouldn’t be disturbed. 

Lightly, she entered the cave. It smelt like his house had, but damper, like the seas had rolled over it. She heard words being said, quietly, as if someone was muttering to themselves. Part of the cave was obscured by a tapestry, and when she rounded it, she found her little brother sitting cross legged on the wet rock, his hair cut and matted and his chest bare. She could see incisions in his skin, _lambda and koppa_; and words of pain and torture. They littered his arms and trailed blood down his chest.

Perhaps she would have been more careful if he didn’t look so helpless, but instead she ran right to him and cradled his face in her hands. His skin was cold, freezing even, but a sheen of sweat covered him. 

“Alexios,” she whispered. “Brother, are you there?”

He was muttering in a language that she didn’t understand; his words punctuated by hard breaths. His eyes were lost, seeing nothing. Her hands trembled as she held him, the tears she’d barely held back for days threatening their release. 

“Alexios, brother, please speak to me.”

He stopped then, his breath still coming fast, but his muttering had stopped. She kissed his forehead and was looking into his eyes when she heard the distinctive scratch of a weapon being unsheathed. 

Still holding his face, she turned, and saw Elpenor standing behind her. 

“He holds such promise, you know. Stealthy, strong, smart. Perfect for the role we have for him.”

“He’s too young,” Kassandra replied, standing to face Elpenor.

“We’ve dealt with younger, and would have had him sooner if you hadn’t rescued him from the bottom of the mountain. Ahhh, yes, Kassandra. We’ve sought you for a long time.”

“What have you done to him?”

“Oh, nothing drastic. We need him intact, after all. He’s our weapon, our muse, our theatre. He’s what will bring the Greek world to Kosmos.”

“You’re not taking him anywhere. You’ll have to get through me.”

“Oh, no, Kassandra. He will be presented below the temple at Delphi as our champion. You made him soft; weak; merciful. Kosmos will make him strong; ruthless; unparalleled. But we needn’t be hasty. We could broker a deal, one sibling for the other? Besides, you’re already ruthless. We could let him go on his merry way.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t? Such a pity. It would have made a gre-”

Kassandra didn’t wait to hear anymore. Instead, her hands drove the spear of Leonidas through Elpenor’s cheek, sending it into the back of his head. She was sick of his talking, sick of his scheming, sick of waiting to hear how next they could destroy her and hers. She wiped his blood on her armour, making her hands clean so she wouldn’t taint her brother with it. 

“Alexios, brother, I’m going to get you out of here. Please just follow my direction, and we can leave.”

Alexios didn’t look at her, but was instead looking down at Elpenor’s body. Kassandra told him to stand, so he stood. Then she found a shawl in one of the crates littering the cave, and placed it around his shoulders. The sun had gone down since she’d entered the cave, and the night was cooling. 

But when she told him to walk, he instead just stared at the body. Her pleading wasn’t enough to move him, and she didn’t want to tempt fate by physically moving him. So she looked in the direction he was staring, and saw a white mask poking out of Elpenor’s cloak. It was a theatre mask with a false beard and slits for eyes. She picked it up and pocketed it. Once this was done, Alexios seemed willing to follow her directions out of the cave and onto the stolen horse. 

And as Kassandra rode them to the Adrestia, she whispered stories of his childhood to him. Stories of the sun; of the rain; of flowers and grass and Deimos. She told him of her pride, of his best traits, of the times he stole away honey or gave away food to people who needed it more. 

She wanted him to remember everything that Elpenor would have wanted him to forget: his mercy and his kindness. 

Eventually, after an hour, she felt his hand move to cover hers and stroke it slightly. She almost lost a yelp from her throat in relief. Then the tears flowed from her freely, making her hair cling to her face as she rode into the night.


	10. Delphi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassandra seeks the cult.

The morning was hazy. The fog had rolled in overnight, bearing down on them and suffocating their senses. They couldn’t see, they couldn’t smell, they couldn’t hear. The clouds around them seemed to react to Kassandra’s request to the Gods for quiet. She didn’t want the distraction of the morning light, and she didn’t need the harbour master here asking when they’d move on, that there were ships here who wanted the dock, that the drachmae she’d paid wasn’t enough. The fog meant no ships, the fog meant quiet. 

She needed time to think through her next move, and her next move needed to be tonight. 

“A meeting of them,” Alexios had whispered through his broth. “A meeting of them in Delphi.”

Kassandra had nodded, unwilling to prompt more from him. His cuts still bled and his hair still stuck to his scalp. He’d slept, eventually, but only with her hand in his, like they used to do when they were children. 

He was inside the ship, awake, sharpening his blade. Kassandra could hear the scratch, scratch, scratch of the whetstone against the metal, the sword singing to slice. Alexios had seemed afraid of it, almost, when he’d first received it. But that fear was gone: replaced by the calm that she recognised to come before a kill. 

She walked back into the cabin and found him sitting in the corner, his armour on his lap. 

“Do you remember our orange tree?” she asked quietly. He nodded in reply, not taking his eyes off his sword. “I remember one year, we had so many oranges that our baskets were overflowing. We used to share it, of course, but I always preferred people asked rather than just took. You know, in case there wasn’t enough left for us.”

“I remember.”

“Well, once I came to our basket of oranges, you know, the one I kept just outside the door? I came to find none left! I was furious, both that someone had stolen from us, and that they were so brazen as to steal from our back door.”

“I remember.”

“But they weren’t stolen, were they? They were gifted by you to strangers who had sunk their boat just off the cliffs under our house. Starving, openly stupid for getting too close to shore, but alive, because you shared our oranges with them.”

“Kassandra, why are you telling me this?”

Tears sprung into her eyes at his dull tone. She knew it would take time, but the guilt and pain of the previous week were beginning to leak out of her. 

“I’m telling you because I hope you’ll remember.”

“I don’t remember what oranges taste like.”

“I’ll buy us some, when I’m next at a merchant who sells them.”

“Sometimes I want to go home, back to Kephallonia, back to the trees and the wind and the fish. Sometimes I even miss Xanthe’s husband.”

“It’s the normalcy that you miss, I think. It was home, for you.”

“It wasn’t home for you?”

“You’re my home, Alexios. Wherever you are, I’ll be home.”

\--------

She lulled him back to sleep with the Spartan lullaby she used to sing him when he was a boy. It was well into the morning before she could bear to leave him, but eventually she left him to the cabin of the ship. 

“I’m going to Delphi,” she announced to Barnabas, sliding her spear into its sheath. “Please take care of him for me.”

“Of course, Kassandra. He’ll be safe here. What do you seek in Delphi?”

“The conspirators that seem to have their tendrils everywhere. I got a mask from Elpenor and I’ll try and infiltrate them tonight.”

“Better ride fast then, it’s a half day to Delphi.”

“Barnabas,” Kassandra said solemnly. “If I’m not back by sunrise tomorrow, turn the ship to Kephallonia and return him home. If I’m ok, I’ll find him there. If not, he’ll be home.”

“Commander, I’ll protect him myself if anything happens. He’ll be under the care of the Gods, too.” He clapped her on the shoulder, rubbing his thumb lightly over her protruding bones. She hadn’t eaten properly since Alexios went missing. 

She nodded in return, and left the ship to ride to Delphi.

It was dusk when she arrived. Ikaros had scouted ahead, seeking an unusual throng of people about places that they shouldn’t be. Kassandra rode into the temple complex and sought the bird, hearing him keen towards the south. Her footsteps were light but her anxiety screamed through her ears. She was near, she could sense it. So much malice could be felt like electricity in the air, ready to spark. That spark could set fire to the world. 

A large door, sitting just below a rock cleft, sat ajar and welcoming and nefarious. Kassandra donned the cloak and mask that she’d gathered from Elpenor, silently thanking Alexios for directing her to it before they’d left the corpse. It was a man’s mask, with a beard and large eyes, but her height might work in her favour.

She began to walk down the steps, hearing the general hum of chatter coming from the end of the corridor. Fire lit the walls, the flickering light telling prophecies of the lay to the learned.

_Run, run, run!_

Kassandra ignored the figures in the flames, and walked on. The rock hallway opened into a large, circular chamber. Hewn from stone, and incredibly damp, Kassandra found herself slipping slightly on the walk way. Then she noticed the figures. So many people, wearing masks and cloaks the same as hers, speaking to each other, questioning each other, giving unknowable insights into each other. 

But it was the anticipation in the air that struck Kassandra. They all yearned for an event to pass, for their true quest to begin, to start anew.

“You!” a voice said behind her. She turned and faced a small person with a man’s mask. “What do you think? Should we seek the mother? Or the father?”

“Whose?” Kassandra asked, keeping her voice low.

“The children from the mountain, of course. Their mother and father both share their blood. That blood is power!”

The children from the mountain. She’d heard the term before, to describe herself and Alexios. 

“Don’t be foolish,” a woman replied. “We know where the mother is. She’s powerful and surrounded by allies, but she shouldn’t be hard to take.”

“Go after the father,” Kassandra said, knowing that if Sparta couldn’t find her father, these people had little hope. 

“But we don’t know where he is,” the man replied. 

“Then find him,” Kassandra said definitively. They cowered a little at the authority in her voice, and she found that she didn’t dislike the reaction. There was power there, power she could use to crush them. 

Kassandra moved on, away from the throng and towards stacks of scrolls. Hearing no one approach her, she pocketed some of them, hoping they could lead her to more information about this cult. 

Then she heard the booming of a drum and a hush fell over the room. She returned to the centre, letting herself blend into the black. 

“Friends, followers of Kosmos.” The speaker was a woman with spidery skin, showing her age, and a voice like off key lyre strings in the hands of a novice: scratchy, unnerving, infuriating. “Our Cult of Kosmos is glad of your presence. You all know why you’re here, and why we’re about to see a new age!”

She raised her hands above her head and swayed them lightly, as if in the wind. But the room was deathly still and deathly quiet, except for the thumping of wood on hide. Whatever these people were anticipating, it was about to happen. 

“Soon, both my missing children will be brought to me, and I will rejoice! One has been returned to us, and he will be presented tonight, and the other will not be far behind!” The drumming had intensified as the speech wore on, and Kassandra felt the sticky feeling of dread run up her back as slow realisation entered her. All she could do was watch, and wait.

“One of our learned friends will present my son to me tonight! Please! Step forward and bring me my child!”

There was silence. The drums had stopped and every one of the cultists held their breath. Kassandra knew they would be kept waiting: she’d rescued their ‘son’ yesterday, and he was sitting eating apples, docked in Pilgrim’s Landing. Alexios was their target, and seemingly their heir. With that, the galvanising force of both retribution and restorative justice raced through Kassandra: she would have each of their heads for hunting her and hers, and she would have them on pikes. 

But still the room remained silent. 

“Bring him to me!” the woman shrieked, looking around the room, seeking a glimpse of the seventeen year old that she had been promised. Her voice took on a mournful tone. “Is he not here?” 

“If he is not, then one of our number has fallen and there is a traitor among us,” boomed a voice from a mountain of a man. “We were promised our champion! We were promised Hellas’ dread!”

“Something must have happened.”

“Was he taken?”

“What of the sister?”

“Don’t worry about the sister.”

“Her ship is currently in Pilgrim’s Landing, we have guards surrounding it.”

“Ready to strike?”

“At our command.”

“Then command it.”

“But the brother?”

“Both are a prize. She might have rescued him and he’s on the ship. Two birds.”

“One stone.”

Kassandra’s heart raced as the cacophony of voices rose to a fever pitch. Each idea was a new voice, and each replied in turn. They bled into each other, and she lost track of them as the tension escalated.

“I’ll ride with the command for the ship,” she bellowed, stalking towards the middle of the room. “I’ll make sure they take both siblings, should they be there.”

The other cultists looked to her, and hearing the authority in her voice, nodded in unison. So Kassandra fled the chamber with her orders for her own and her brother’s capture, into the dark night. 

She rode as a demon, flying down the hill to the dock. It was a six hour ride, at a minimum, but at her speed, she could make it in four. She whistled to Ikaros to fly to the ship, and keep watch for danger. 

With her horse doing most of the work, and her generally following the road, it allowed Kassandra to consider the cultist meeting. 

Because that’s what it was. The conspirators were all a part of a cult. Elpenor, the guards at the temple, the Spartan King, all were a part of the Cult of Kosmos. 

Kassandra heard every accent from the greek world in that room, and all colours of social station as well. Some were statesmen, clear orators, some were workmen, letting their vowels run together. But all held power in their group, and they were organised. By their own words, they were searching for the rest of Kassandra’s family. 

_But the kin is yours._

She’d have to protect them, protect them all. It wasn’t just Alexios, but pater and mater too. 

She would have to find Myrrine next, and she would have to be a step ahead of the cult. How would she find her when the greek world was so vast, and her reach so small? She felt like a child again, grasping at solutions for survival.

As she barrelled down the hill, her will became stronger, her anger lit. Her determination bled into that strength, and she knew, beyond doubt, that she would be able to destroy every last member of the cult. She felt the power of her voice resonate through her. They already feared her, and they would grow to hate her, to dread her. She would be the shadow that signalled their downfall. 

She would be the figure in the flames that burned their whole world down.


	11. At Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassandra rides for the Adrestia.

Kassandra had never run so fast in her life. The sun wasn’t yet near the horizon, but she could feel the dead quiet that accompanies the dawn begin its trek, following her down the mountain. There had been no where to change horses, and the one she’d been riding was flagging desperately when she was only five leagues out from the Adrestia. Her frustration at the animal was starting to peak through as her urging of it became manic, so she dismounted, and abandoned it when it was clear that running would be faster.

And running was faster. She was wind. She was breath. Her force through her footfalls propelled her forward, ceasing to be tangible but rather becoming one with the air. She didn’t feel the rocks beneath her as they attempted to trip her ankles; she didn’t notice the branches of the trees reaching for her: the terrible ringing in her ears was her only anchor to the physical world around her. 

_Two birds._

_One stone._

She could see the torches that announced Pilgrim’s Landing, and she whistled for Ikaros, having sent him ahead. He didn’t reply at first, but then she heard his familiar keening to the south, towards the dock. She whistled twice in quick succession, followed by a long draw, Ikaros’ signal to check for hidden danger. He called as he flew, indicating that all was sleepy in the pre-dawn dark. 

Kassandra held her skepticism in her throat, where she usually kept her worry. But she ran on, climbing rooftops to get the Adrestia into view. 

Her first thought was that perhaps Ikaros was right: perhaps the ship moored there could be taken for any other, and wasn’t currently surrounded by people ready to attack. 

But then Kassandra’s trained eye looked further up, beyond the height of a normal man, looking first into branches of trees, then into windows, then onto the low rooftops of the poor town. That’s when she saw it: a whip of a cloak, a flash of metal, enough to convince her to stay her appearance. She unsheathed her spear, and took out each cultist guard from behind, dropping them like bags of wheat, leaving them in their blood. They weren’t in a clever formation, weren’t watching the hills. The hills were full of cultists, and they thought their backs protected. 

The last one didn’t face her spear, but instead received a broken wrist and a threatening sword tip to their neck. 

“You’re the last of your group,” Kassandra whispered to him, feeling an unwanted exhilaration at the fear of death in his eyes. “Travel to Delphi, travel to your cult, and tell them that the West Wind, the Eagle Bearer, has come to call in her debts.”

“Bu-bu-but they’ll kill me for failure!” he whimpered. 

Kassandra drew her face to stand a hairwidth from his, and whispered “Then die.”

She let him go, his hand dangling from his arm, and she watched him run on ragged feet over the river to Delphi. 

Then she turned herself to where the Adrestia swam, and welcomed the lightest colour as it entered the eastern sky. 

\--------

A blood-curdling scream erupted into the cabin, filling every sense and making her nerves explode. She was up before she realised what the sound was, as if her body knew her brother’s cries before her heart did. 

Or, perhaps, her heart refused to hear, until it was forced to.

“Alexios, Alexios, shhh, shhh, it’s okay, shhh, shhh.”

He continued to scream until tears filled his closed eyes and his head hit the wood next to his pillow, finally waking him up. His eyes opened, red and watered, and they withheld any recognition of Kassandra for a few long seconds. Once they’d focused, and knowing entered them, he launched himself into her arms, yelping through the sobs. She stroked what was left of his hair, pushing it out of his face and behind his ears. Before he’d been taken to the cave, been a prisoner of the cult, he’d worn it long. She’d cut it for him until a pretty girl told him that she preferred it long when he was fourteen, and he’d not allowed her near it since. It had been down passed his shoulder blades, tied with a simple piece of leather, until the cult had sought to crush his identity. They’d guessed that it had been tied to his appearance, covering him in scars and shearing through his hair, but he was more than that. 

Kassandra had to believe that he knew that he was more than that, too. 

But still, she stroked his hair, breathing slowly and deeply, returning him from the nightmare to the world of the living. 

“You only think me a burden,” he whispered, his sobs choking him. “Always a burden.”

“No, Alexios, you’re my joy.”

“But I was forced on you.”

“I would have chosen you.”

“The world didn’t give you a choice.”

“All the same. My choice is you.”

“I feel ruthless, Kassandra. It isn’t a feeling I ever want to feel. But I feel ruthless.”

“What do you mean, brother?”

“I want to snap necks without making sure they’re at fault. I want to ignore their names. I want their families to weep for them, spreading misery. I want blood.”

“That’s a common feeling, but it’s not yours, Alexios. It’s theirs. They put it into you. You aren’t defined by it.”

“Do you feel this way?”

“Yes, but it’s who I am. It’s not who you are. Question it when it arises, but remember that the feeling isn’t what defines you, but the act if you follow through.”

He nodded to her, and she handled him so he was facing away from her. It was mid morning and the Adrestia had successfully sailed into the open sea. The sun shone through the port window, and Kassandra positioned her brother so the sun lit his crown. Then, she took the scissors from her medical pack and began to even out his hair. They’d cut it to the nape of his neck, and she cut it across the straight line. Then, she took some leather and beads and began to twist the hair into braids. As she twisted, she whispered affirmations to him.

“This twist is your soul: keeping you within yourself. Trust it. 

“This bead is your heart: beating beneath your breast and showing you the way. Encourage it. 

“This braid is your life’s blood: leading you towards hope and compassion. Never lose it. 

“This leather is your binds to the earth and the sky: your time between them growing richer by the lives you share it with.”

He closed his eyes softly, listening to the predictable hum of her tone. Within his heart, he recognised the melody from the Spartan lullaby she used to sing him to fall asleep. 

Once she was done, he lifted his hand to feel his hair for the first time since it was slashed, and found that she’d put it into a half tied fashion, enough to keep his hair out of his eyes, with each braid and tie selectively placed into it. He touched each braid, remembering the connections whispered by her. 

_Soul._

_Heart._

_Life._

_Earth and Sky.___

_ _\--------_ _

_ _“Kassandra, do we have heading?” Barnabas called. “Not that I’m complaining about these calm seas, thank Poseidon.”_ _

_ _Kassandra was pouring over the scrolls she’d stolen from the meeting the night before, looking for recognisable hands and recognisable names. She’d found one from Elpenor to his superior, frustratingly addressed to just an initial ‘N’, but it spoke about a cultist operating a slaving operation in Attika, which was hopeful. She’d started a diary of each clue, a page per cultist, hopefully enough to seek them out and destroy them one by one. She had the names of some of their low lying fruit, and maybe picking them off would lead to bigger prizes. She definitely wanted to know more about the woman who claimed Alexios for herself, through her madness. Though clues leading to her may be in the pile, Kassandra didn’t yet know enough to differentiate her, so she placed the woman in the back of her mind, waiting for the information that would lead to her blood._ _

_ _“I don’t have enough definite information to after anyone specifically. But there are some things here which could be investigated.”_ _

_ _“Can I make a suggestion?” Herodotus asked. Though Kassandra hadn’t known him long, she didn’t think he’d ever not had a suggestion. One seemed to always be burning his tongue, ready to alight his mouth. She nodded to him._ _

_ _“We go to Athens, and consult with contacts I have there. They may be able to assist in the search for your cult as well as the search for your mother.”_ _

_ _Kassandra nodded again, considering it. “Who do you know in Athens?”_ _

_ _“I’m Athenian, I know everybody. But specifically, I know Perikles and his circle. They’re powerful men who may know a thing or two.”_ _

_ _“Ok, then we make heading for Athens.”_ _

_ _Kassandra gathered up her papers and bound them together with leather, placing them in the trunk at the back of the ship. As she closed it, the golden metal of her father’s helm shone in the sun. She felt her shoulders quake and her breath leave her body as she recalled how close she’d been to ending his life._ _

_ _Though he threw her, and had regretted it, he hadn’t been the one to assent to Alexios’ death. He was bound, as they all were, to a corrupt king and a powerfully pervasive group. His hands were tied even as his wife screamed for his help. _ _

_ _Kassandra knew that forgiveness was beyond her, she’d been seething in her anger for too long, but for the first time since Megaris, she was glad that she’d spared him. He’d had no chance to protect them, especially as the scrolls of the cult had revealed how far flung their members were. Nowhere in Hellas would have been safe for them. Nowhere in this slice of the world would have been safe. Her parents could have run, children in tow, but to where? To who? With the cult chasing them down. _ _

_ _No, it had been better for Kassandra to be thrown after her brother and both of them thought dead. She raised him in relative safety, and although she’d paid the price and was paying it everyday with her trauma, Alexios had grown up intact. And that was worth everything. _ _

_ _Kassandra took the helm out of the trunk and placed it on her head, feeling the cool metal against her skin. It didn’t feel foreign or uncanny, rather, it felt like safety and years of honed skill was held within the gold. She took it off, but kept it under her arm, and returned to the cabin where Alexios was sleeping the morning away._ _

_ _“Brother?” she whispered when she entered._ _

_ _He was already sitting up, sifting through the meal of fish and lemons that she had left for him earlier, mild disgust on his face._ _

_ _“This tastes differently to the fish from home,” he said, running a morsel around his bowl. “Ocean caught?”_ _

_ _“Yes, this morning. We’re making our way to Athens.” She sat down next to him and picked up a fillet from his plate with her fingers, sliding it down her throat. “I think the ones you caught were just better cooked.”_ _

_ _He smiled slightly at that, and put the bowl down. _ _

_ _“Are you going to tell me what happened last night?”_ _

_ _Kassandra hesitated. She didn’t need to protect him. He was both old enough, wise enough, and strong enough to hear it. And that was beside the fact that she needed their combined smarts to decipher a lot of the bullshit held within the cultist scrolls. But still, Kassandra hesitated. His screams momentarily filled her, and what he’d said about his burgeoning ruthlessness played through her mind. _ _

_ _“I went to the cult meeting, heard some things, read some others, then I returned to the Adrestia in the morning. No one even knew that I wasn’t supposed to be there, they all had masks and cloaks on. It was bizarre. But Herodotus thinks that his contacts in Athens will be able to give us more information on the cult and on our mother. We will take out cult members as we look for mater.”_ _

_ _“You’re withholding from me, and I understand why you’re doing it, but I was awake when we sailed this morning. I sensed the charge in the air, the frenzy when you returned.” He looked pleadingly into her eyes. “Just promise me that you’ll tell me eventually,”_ _

_ _Kassandra nodded, and squeezed his hand. “When we reach Athens, I’ll tell you all of it. We need to do this together, anyway. But rest for the time it takes us to get there, yes?”_ _

_ _“Okay,” he relented. “As long as we’re also looking for mater.”_ _

_ _“Yes. That’s the other thing, thank you for convincing me to spare pater’s life. From what I heard under Delphi, they were never going to get away, no matter what they tried. It worked out for the best that you grew up on Kephallonia, away from the cult.”_ _

_ _“Are you going to wear his helm now?”_ _

_ _“Yes, I figured that the cult will soon get my warning that the West Wind is tracking them, and I’d like them to see us coming.”_ _


	12. At Sea pt two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexios forces Kassandra to celebrate her birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit shorter!

Kassandra watched her brother from the stern of the ship. He was hoisting the sails with the crew, laughing and calling in companionability. If there was one aspect that she envied of him, it was how easily he made people like him. He was friendly and open to most he met, even those who he should be suspicious of, and she wished that people saw that openness in her. _It would be easier to run them through, then._

She caught the thought before it had full formed, and twisted it to change its value. 

_She wished that people would be more open to her_, full stop. 

She’d come into the habit of thoughtful brutality, and she wanted to break herself out of it. That’s why she watched her brother as he made friends: it brought her contentment and joy that kept the harmful thoughts at bay. 

As if hearing her, he looked up and gestured to her, a large smile playing on his lips. The weather was cooling and the breezes were becoming fiercer, welcoming winter to the Aegean. The men around him looked to his gesture, and a shout went up as Alexios spoke. She couldn’t hear him, but it made her smile all the same. The Adrestia had become her home, the men her companions and cousins. They’d been sailing around the horn of Messenia and up to Athens, spending weeks at sea with them. Though Alexios had them as friends, she had them as soldiers and they respected her as their commander. 

The shout spread around the ship, and she raised her hand in thanks, though for what, she wasn’t sure. She needn’t ask, Alexios would tell her eventually, and knowing that it came from him made her trust it implicitly. Then a song began, and she couldn’t place it initially, having no context for its beginning. Then her brother began to walk towards her and he was given a large cup of wine by one of the sailors, and realisation hit her. 

It was the drinking song that they used to begin a symposium. This had turned into a symposium. 

_Oh, Gods, it was early winter. _

A horrified look entered her eyes as she shook her head at her brother. His smile took on a mischievous glint: he knew full well how much she hated the attention and was playing off his own likeability to force her to celebrate her birthday. She never had, outside of the gifts from him, but they were surrounded by others now, others that wanted to celebrate.

Alexios reached her with the cup as the song neared its end, with the thump, thump, thump of feet on the deck, imploring her to drink the wine until it was finished. She obliged, holding it empty above her head to the roar of her crew. She heard Barnabas whoop behind her, clapping her brother on the back. 

So they were conspirators in this. 

Kassandra also reached for her brother, her hand moving towards his shoulder. He looked at her outstretched hand warily, seeing her fingers flex as they attempted to make contact. Thinking quickly, he engulfed her in a bear hug, pinning her hands to her sides so she couldn’t do much damage in her annoyance. Instead, she whispered obscenities into his ear.

“Your crew wanted to celebrate your birthday,” he whispered back. “It’s only fair.”

“They only knew because you told them.”

“No, I think Ikaros told them.”

“Alexios.”

“Kassandra.”

“You’ll pay for this.”

“Someday, you’re going to have to just deal with the fact that people want to celebrate with you.”

He let her go then, and she reached up to kiss his forehead. Barnabas made a motherly noise of assent, but Alexios knew the gesture for what it was. 

A promise of payback. 

\--------

The night wore on, with half the sailors blind drunk and the other half envious of them. They still needed men to run the ship and fight should they come across pirates, so they’d drawn straws. Though Alexios wasn’t averse to a drink, he preferred to be alert so his sister could enjoy the festivities. He looked at her, sitting between two of her lieutenants, one woman who had joined them in Megaris, and the other a man who they had picked up in Phokis. Kassandra’s arm was draped casually over the woman and her hand was placed on the man’s lap. The intimacy made Alexios look away, wanting to wash his eyes out with sea water. He stopped short of gagging, but he was close. He hoped that this was his only punishment for the birthday symposium.

He’d decided that he liked the Adrestia more than Kephallonia. The men were closer in experience to him, many of them coming from army backgrounds. What he liked best was that they just accepted Kassandra as their commander, rather than questioning her womanhood. He knew she brushed it off when it happened, but he’d never seen her for anything other than the powerhouse that she was, and when people thought less of her it infuriated him. 

He had this in mind when he heard her booming voice, a tilt to it that betrayed her current drunkenness. He turned and found her standing, her companions now lying on their backs behind her. 

“In honour of me,” she slurred, and a yell went up after her. “I propose a tournament. Sparring. Shame for the losers. I will watch and you will fight.” A yell sounded again, a hum of excited betting overtaking the hum of drink. It was always fun to watch drunk men fight, especially with the pride of the commander as a prize.

Something in Kassandra’s voice didn’t sit right with Alexios. There was a theatricality that he suspected hid something else. 

Then his sister’s eyes met his. “The apparent leader of you men shall show you how talented he is, in due course.” Alexios’ heart dropped. He knew how to work people so they liked him, would listen to him. Part of it was humility, part of it was self-admonition. None of it involved winning against them. He didn’t know what it was, but he _needed_ these men to like him. 

But now he would win the sparring tournament that his sister had set, and he would go backwards in his efforts to be liked. He laughed at her comments, and bowed slightly. So _this_ was his punishment. 

And he did beat them, each in turn. The drunk men were knocked out first, of course, when pitted against the sober men. Watching their flailing as the drink addled their brains produced many laughs and lightened the mood. 

But the mood turned when the sober men felt the need to defend their honour. It was a knock out tournament, and Alexio beat the early rounds easily. It was more difficult when he faced the more experienced of the soldiers, but he still had them on their arses within five minutes of starting. Some took his offered hand with a laugh, others batted it away, their pride shattered by a boy not yet eighteen. 

Once Alexios had beaten the last man, cheers went up and he turned to face his sister. 

“All in celebration of the birthday girl, long may she reign.” He felt impishly satisfied at seeing her chin jutt out in defiance, but drowned his smile in a cup of wine. 

“My celebration is only just beginning, my dear Alexios: my brother and my right hand. For now you are welcomed to spar me.”

The smile fled his face, and seemed to take residence on hers. He saw her eyes, clear and bright, and looked to the full cup of wine next to where she’d been sitting. 

“You’ve been sober this whole time!” he exclaimed.

“Of course I have, I’d hardly leave the Adrestia without a commander.”

“You should have been celebrating!”

“Oh, I was.” She gestured mildly to her lieutenants, now sleeping off the evening. 

“Ok, I get it, I’m sorry about the birthday. I just wanted to roast you a bit, okay?”

“Yeh, I’m sorry too,” she replied.

“For what?” 

“For beating you in front of your friends.” Then she launched into an attack, a wooden practice staff held between her hands.

And she did beat him, and it filled him with dread. He’d always been made fun of for his sister’s prowess, and he’d hated it, but not because he wanted to be better than her. He wanted her to be respected in her own right, and not as a comparison to him. 

It was only later that he knew to thank her for beating him. They were sitting together, legs dangling over the sides, having decided to drink their fill in the end. 

“You hate the staff,” he said, words melding into each other. 

“You hate the kopis, but sometimes use it.” The sun was rising before them, lighting the visible islands to the east. Athens lay just north of them, and they should be there in a few days. 

“Was the tournament really nece … nessess … necesissary?”

Kassandra grinned at him. He usually was so good with words, but he’d never drunk so much before. At least she had a tolerance. 

“Yes, yes it was. I know it seemed like I was being an arsehole, or whatever, but if the men turn you into a God, then you’ll never reach them again. They had to know that you’re human.”

“But you made me beat my friends. I just want people to like me, and you made me beat them.”

“They’ll like you more now. That’s why I challenged you, baby brother. You lost, just like they did. You watch: tomorrow they’ll be clapping you on the back like a brother of war.”

“I don’t want to go back to Sami anymore,” he slurred, leaning his head against her shoulder. She put her arm around him.

“That’s ok. We’re going to Athens. I think you’ll like it there. According to Herodotus, all everyone does is talk.”

“I love you so much Kass. I’m sorry if you ever thought I didn’t. Elpenor he … he told me that you didn’t even like me, that I was a burden, that I was the rea-”

“Hush, Alexios. I know you love me, and I love you. I’ll never let those people get their hands on you again. I’ll burn through Hellas to destroy their rot. We’ll find mater, hopefully find pater again too, and I’ll make it safe for us. I promise.”

His gentle snoring was his only reply, and Kassandra let a smile come to her mouth. Tomorrow, they would go through their notes on the cult, and attempt to gain entry to Athens, and he needed his brains for that. But for now he slept, safe with his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently spent a bunch of time with my brothers and sister and forgot how much of the conversation is just roasting each other.


	13. Athens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Adrestia arrives in Athens

It was the morning they were due to arrive in Athens, and Kassandra couldn’t sleep. She’d tossed and turned all night, flipping possible scenarios through her head. Maybe they’d not be able to even see Perikles and his circle. Maybe they’d come all this way for nothing. Maybe Nikolaos had lied and Myrrine was dead. Maybe Perikles was in the cult, lying in wait to snatch Alexios from Kassandra yet again. 

Kassandra shook the thoughts from her head. They weren’t helping. 

She turned to look at her sleeping brother, his mouth half open and his hair still in the braids she’d tied. He had bounced back from the incident with Elpenor, the weeks at sea calming him. They had done the opposite to her, galvanising her resolve for destruction. But this was always their way: he was considered and measured, she was quick and angry. 

Alexios snorted in his sleep and rolled away from her, his massive shoulders barely able to be covered by the blanket. He’d grown so much, and so fast, from the baby she’d picked up from the mountain. He’d been four and a good listener, then suddenly he was eight and a terrible one, then he was thirteen and growing into his island home, then he was sixteen and would likely never see it again. Seventeen with the wisdom of a man double his age. Kassandra thought of their father and the eyes he shared with her brother. Would he have grown up the same if the cult hadn’t come for them? Would he be this kind, this open, this welcoming? Or would their father beaten it out of him in the quest for Spartan dominance. Would Kassandra have let him?

Would Kassandra have known him?

Seventeen. Almost out of the agoge and into the field, and right at the beginning of a war between Sparta and Athens. _Curious timing._

But would he have been put into the field? Kassandra thought not. He was the son of a General and grandson to a King, he would likely have been separated from the boys at the agoge early to learn tactics and ruling. Stentor was a commander in Megaris, and had mentioned that Nikolaos had trained him for the role. Maybe Stentor was less Nikolaos’ substitute for Kassandra, and more his substitute for Alexios. A daughter is a boon, a son is a prize. 

Alexios would have been trained to be a commander. They wouldn’t risk him in the Phalanx, no matter his objection. And Alexios would have objected to not being sent to fight this war with his men, as he did on the Adrestia. 

Something was forming in Kassandra’s mind, an errant thought that eluded her. She attempted to grasp it, but it fled, leaving her wandering between the connection of the cultist king and her brother’s death sentence. 

She shook her head again. It was too early for this. She reached around for one of her sandals and threw it at her still snoring brother, eliciting a sleeping yelp from him. 

“Why,” he grumbled mournfully.

“Get up brigand, we’re in Athens.”

He opened one of his eyes and looked at her suspiciously. “But it’s still dark.”

‘Well if we can’t sleep, then we might as well talk through our plan.”

“But I _was_ sleeping.”

“Oh, come on. I know you’re chomping at the bit to meet the King of Athens.”

“He’s not a King, he reckons he serves his people.” Alexios sat up and rubbed his face. He was excited to see Athens and the ideas it brought him. Though his sister and Kephallonia made fine tutors, he’d outgrown them. 

“Which people? Those from the slums, or from the quarries?”

“Neither, both, it doesn’t matter. Either way, he decides where their armies head and why. Kleon is also a quantity: one of the Generals.”

“Herodotus told you this?”

Alexios nodded. “He also told me of some of their customs. Like how you likely won’t be allowed into symposiums, or be able to speak to the men at all.”

“So much for the centre of intellectual thought.” Kassandra breathed noisily out of her nose. “So you’ll be my _kurios_ and I’ll stay silent. Lovely.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t like it either, maybe it would be best for you to stay on the ship?”

She laughed at him then, breaking the tension of her mounting anger. “What, and let you into that city with the cult everywhere? Don’t be foolish.”

“It was just a suggestion! I didn’t make their laws.”

Kassandra sighed. "I know, and I’m sorry. I’m just agitated. The sun will be up soon, and we have to ensure we have everything we need. I thought armour under citizen clothing, even basic chest plates, something light and protective. I doubt we’ll be able to get within five hundred feet of Perikles with weapons.”

“Agreed. Herodotus will be accompanying us, and it wouldn’t look good for him either.” Alexios hesitated, not wanting to risk his sister’s mounting annoyance. “Kassandra, what did you hear at Delphi? You told me that you would tell me once we reached Athens.”

Kassandra sighed. “I did tell you that, didn’t I. Ok, feel free to ask any questions as you have them. Firstly, the room was full to the brim, men and women, all accents and all classes.”

“You didn’t see faces?”

“No. But they’re from everywhere. And there was a woman, I haven’t figured out who she is yet, but she called us her children and -”

“Her real children, or the children of the cult?”

“I don’t know, the Pythia also called us the children of the mountain. It could be related, so I would say cult. I doubt our mater is in the cult, especially from what I saw on the mountain. But she said that you would be presented to her that night.” 

“That’s what Elpenor told me, too. He said that the only reason we made it off Kephallonia alive was to become weapons. Every time I begged to be freed, he bled me.”

“Your wounds are healing, don’t let their brutality fill you. When you turned up absent, there was a huge amount of anger in the room, like a child that had been promised then denied a toy.”

“Why us?”

“I don’t know. Maybe something about the royal blood, maybe because they’re like a dog with a bone and they can’t let us go. But every drop you bled will be one of their heads.”

The dawn was beginning to break, and both of them stopped to watch the sky lighten. 

“You don’t have to, you know,” Alexios said quietly. “You could let it go, we could go back into hiding. No one would know us in Krete, or Mykonos.”

Kassandra smiled, part pity and part resignation. “I know that you have no appetite for vengeance, baby brother, but you’ll never be safe if they continue to grow. And besides, I have a lead on an Attika silver mine: while I’m in the neighbourhood.”

Alexios didn’t answer her. This was the aspect of her that he detested the most, though he had to provide credit to it for keeping them alive. If their father hadn’t thrown her off the cliff, she might have grown up softer and more forgiving, but instead, she’d grown up fast and hard. 

“Hey,” she said, nudging him on the shoulder. His feelings must have been showing on his face. “I didn’t kill pater, and I have no intention of killing mater. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

Alexios wasn’t used to her seeking this kind of assurance from him. He could see the doubt cloud her, like it used to do when they were younger, and so he smiled at her. 

“Of course it does. I just don’t want you to go down a path where I can’t follow you.”

“I won’t, but even if I do, I’ll have you to bring me back.”

\--------

“Perikles, leader of Athens, this is Alexios of Kephallonia. He assisted me with passage to Athens.”

Alexios bowed to the statesmen, keeping his eyes low. He was wearing an uncomfortably hot chiton covered in a himation: this combination was the only way to cover his chestplate. He resisted the urge to air the fabric to let a breeze through.

“Herodotus regaled us with fine tales of his travels,” Alexios said, letting his still-forming rumble take rein. “He spoke highly of your symposiums, here in Athens as well.”

“Did he now,” Perikles replied, looking down his nose at the seventeen year old. Though he was young, Alexios knew that people could be fooled into thinking him a man. “And I guess you, a man of a backwater, want an invitation to tonight’s event?”

Alexios didn’t reply, but let a self assured smile play on his lips. _Let the leader of Athens fill in the gaps for himself._

Perikles shook his head, dismissing the thought that played there. “If Herodotus can vouch for you, you’d be welcome to come. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sick of talking.”

“That could have gone worse,” said Kassandra, leaving her position on the periphery. They’d agreed that this would be Alexios’ show, him being a man and all, and that she would simply shadow him. 

“It could have gone better,” whispered Alexios, still playing his failure through his head.

“Well, I could hardly have introduced you as Alexios of Sparta, heir to Agiad, now could I?” said Herodotus with a smirk. 

“You could have tried ‘my learned friend Alexios, who I admire and give my full support to, and who simply wants to find information’. He thinks I’m striving!”

“And yet, he was speaking to a Spartan heir without knowing it. It doesn’t matter, you’ll perform better at the symposium.”

Alexios huffed, but Kassandra looked concerned. This might be their only chance at the men Herodotus said were so knowledgeable. This might be their only chance to find their mater and find out more about the cult. 

“Are there women servants here?” she asked. 

Herodotus nodded. “Yes, why?”

“I could be a slave. I could serve wine. I could listen to conversations that people think I’m not understanding.”

“Yes, you could, except you and your brother look like twins.”

“No one will notice the slave, Herodotus.”

\--------

Kassandra found herself at the kitchens behind Perikles’ house, telling the cooks that she’d been sent from Herodotus’ household to assist with the evening. They’d accepted her, mainly because of her poor clothes (stolen) and her dirty hair (purposeful). She’d made herself a part of the preparations: fetching, stirring, cleaning, and when the time came, serving. 

And no one did notice her, except for Alexios when he arrived with Herodotus. Kassandra gave him a small smile, but otherwise avoided him. Herodotus was right: their resemblance was uncanny, and it wouldn’t take a one eyed man long to figure it out. 

She watched as her brother was introduced to men three times his age, and battled them in rhetoric and wits. He provided some philosophy of his own to the thoughtful banter, gaining laughs and smiles. Kassandra moved about the room, filling cups and listening.

“Definitely troublesome. The Spartans’s victory in Megaris was all they needed to make Attika their …”

“I didn’t think you cared so much, Aristophanes …”

“Of where? Kephallonia? But never have I heard such fine words spoken. Surely he’s from elsewhere.”

Kassandra gave that one extra helpings of wine, to stave off their questioning. She moved towards the back of the room, and felt her shoulders grasped from behind and a whisper of words against her cheek.

“Where did such a fine morsel such as yourself come from?”

It took everything in Kassandra’s might to not murder the man behind her. Instead, she steadied her breathing, and forced a giggle. 

“Herodotus' household, here to help.” Then she turned and was faced with a man with white blond hair and a bare chest. 

“Then help me meet Aphrodite tonight. We have a room, off to the side. You’d be welcome to join us.”

“Oh, maybe,” Kassandra said, giving her words an air of whimsy. If she got the tone right, men easily swapped their knowledge for even the mere thought of her in bed with them. “Maybe we could talk first for a bit. Do you have a mother?”

“What a strange phrasing. My mother is Perikles’ cousin, did you know? What about your mother?”

“I don’t know, I’m searching for her.” Kassandra drew her face close to the man’s, letting the sing song quality go and lowering her tone to that of seduction.

“Oh, dear. I would hate to not know what happened to my mother. Can I help?”

“Maybe. She fled Sparta long ago, searching for peace. Any ideas?” She lifted her hand and placed a finger into his hair, tugging it slightly. 

“Oh, perhaps the Hetaerae could help. They are in Korinth, close to your Spartan mother, and they will always assist a lost child such as yourself. Perhaps we could talk about it more, somewhere more private.”

Kassandra nodded, and let him lead her to a chamber off the main hall. She looked behind her slightly, hoping that her brother didn’t see that she wasn’t just here to listen. 

\--------

Alexios was exhausted by the time he met Aspasia. Perikles’ wife seemed like an easy source of information, feeding him tidbits about the Athenian world, and making him laugh. 

“Why are you here, Alexios of Kephallonia? Surely there are more interesting parties for someone of your age.”

“Ah,” he replied. “I’m not only here to speak to great thinkers, I have another purpose. A Spartan woman, I’m searching for her.”

“Spartans can be found just outside our gates, but I think they leave their women in Sparta.”

Alexios shook his head. “This one fled Sparta long ago, I’m hoping for some leads on her. Myrrine.”

“Myrrine? I’ve heard that name, and the name she now goes by.”

Alexios felt it first in his heart, then the spread of it move from his chest through to his limbs and his fingers. _Hope._

“And what name is that?” he whispered. 

“Phoenix.”

“Thank you, Aspasia. I think I will leave you to your guests. I hope to see you again.”

“And I you, Alexios of Kephallonia.”

\--------

Later, after Kassandra had extracted herself from Alkibiades and escaped through the kitchens, she found her brother sitting in the port where they’d agreed to meet. He was looking older somehow, whether it was his civilian clothes or the night’s events, Kassandra didn’t know. But she saw an opportunity to test him. 

It was a dark moonless night, and Kassandra stole towards the back of the shack that Alexios was sitting in front of. She didn’t have weapons, but she did have her hands. She took off her sandals and quietly, so quietly that she couldn’t hear herself, she moved towards his back, ready to surprise him and test his reflexes. But then he sighed, and Kassandra pinpointed why he looked older. 

He was sad, but he wasn’t crying. His shoulders slumped, but he made no noise in this, his own, private moment. 

Kassandra stilled, not used to him being so, she couldn’t find the right word. He was acting so _adult_. She decided against testing his reflexes and instead made her feet shuffle, so as not to startle him, and then sat down next to him. 

“Anything?” she asked, taking his hand and squeezing it.

“Phoenix, she goes by Phoenix.” Kassandra nodded in reply. “You?”

“The Hetaerae might know something, they’re in Korinth.”

“I lost track of you through the night.” The purposely mischievous question hung in the air, and Kassandra punched his shoulder in reply. 

“Men are easy to get information from if you just know how to stroke it out of them.”

“Urgh, gross, Kass!”

“What?! You asked!”

“No, I didn’t! Gods, never say anything like that to me again, gross. I’m going to go and wash now.”

“You can’t wash your brain!” she called after him, laughing. He flipped her off as he ran to the Adrestia, and she followed him, sandals in hand.


	14. Korinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexios and Kassandra meet Korinthia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long one but I couldn't find anywhere satisfactory to split it. 
> 
> Your kind words are appreciated!

“Now, if you can’t pay your debts, you won’t be allowed back on the ship. If you get gaoled, you send word and I’ll come and get you, but only for petty crime or if the other guy hit first, anything else and you’re off the ship. Understood?” 

The group of men and women in front of her nodded, some moving from foot to foot in their urgency for shore leave. 

“Check in every evening to see when we disembark. Other than that, _chaire_.”

They whooped at her, and then rushed to the dock. She watched them leave, and took a moment to appreciate how close to family they’d become. She didn’t truly mean it when she said that she’d kick them off the ship, but it was better that they thought it. Kassandra placed her father’s helm on her head and descended from the stern to meet Barnabas and Alexios. Alexios reached his hand up to touch the filigree of the helm, smiling slightly as he did so. 

“You polished it,” he said.

“I did. I didn’t want the metal spotting.”

He nodded in reply “I’m glad you kept it.” He then turned to the dock to join the revelry currently walking into town. 

The siblings had laid their plans last night: Kassandra would seek the hetaerae: Anthousa and her kind, and Alexios would listen to whispers while on his jaunt with the crew. He minded this only a little bit: it seemed like a pseudo babysitting job, but he took it anyway. Something about this city didn’t sit right: like there was a blade hidden under every rug. 

Kassandra watched her brother leave, and then made her way south to the agora. She smiled slightly, remembering how easily Alkibiades had gifted her information: she’d barely even had to try. He’d fallen into her luckless girl routine, revealing Anthousa and the location of the Hetaerae in Korinthia. 

So Kassandra ran south, getting a feel for the terrain and seeking the carved out blue door that Alkibiades had described. She found it after a little searching, using drachmae to grease fingers where her inquiry met dead ends. It was an unassuming door, one that could lead to an unassuming house. She knocked thrice, giving punctuation between the second and third, as instructed, then she waited. 

Nothing.

She knocked again in the same motion.

Again, nothing. 

She huffed in frustration, and backed away to check the surrounding housing.

“Looking for the hetaerae, chick?” The voice was quiet, but smooth with experience. Kassandra felt goose-bumps erupt on her skin. 

“Yes, I am,” she replied, eyeing the older woman closely.

“They’ve scarpered, I’m afraid. But whatever you want from them, you could likely get from me. I know my way around a hay bale, make no mistake.”

“No, thank you,” Kassandra said, keeping her eyes focused and clear. “Any idea where they’ve gone?”

“The worshipers of Aphrodite are in the temple on the mountain. They bring in business for the Hetaerae, maybe check there. You sure that you don’t want a jaunt? I’m not cheap but I’ll make it worth your while?”

Kassandra had ceased listening, instead looking south to the temple mount. She was brought back to the street by the woman touching her shoulder slightly, and Kassandra jumped back.

“No, thank you,” she said as she released a coin from her pouch. “But thank you for the lead.”

As she climbed the mountain, she noticed many armed men, none of who showed allegiance to either Athens or Sparta. Their shields were unbranded and their style of clothing was civilian. But their weapons were expensive, and they seemed both well fed and skilled. A common thread connected them, and Kassandra followed a few to find out what. They were walking towards the temple, joking and laughing as coins jangled in their pockets. 

“Did you see his head? Massive bugger, he was. I almost lost my own hand.”

“What did he do?”

“Tried to take the Monger’s grain. He was lucky to just lose a hand.”

The second man laughed. “I’d have taken more off him for that, the whole arm.”

“No need, he died in the street anyway. Bleeding will do that.”

“Enough talk, I’m here for some fun,” said the third man as he walked towards tents set up next to the temple. He grabbed one of the women sitting on a pillow and roughly pulled her close to him. “Let’s say we have some fun, and I won’t tell my master that you’ve set up in his town.”

The woman slapped the man as Kassandra unsheathed her spear. “You don’t own Korinth, and your _master_ will pay the price for hi-.” The man punched her in the mouth, and she fell backwards. 

Kassandra leaped for him, driving her spear into his neck and twisting it. She kicked him to the ground and stood to face his friends. 

She needn’t have bothered. Two arrows had entered the men in front of her while she had taken out the first.

“Brother,” she said, sheathing her weapon. Alexios emerged from the other side of the tent and smirked at her. Then he mirrored her movements as they turned towards the women in the tent. “Are you ok?” Kassandra asked them.

“Yes, but those savages have been pestering us for weeks. Everyday is a new one. Thank you for saving us, but more will be back tomorrow.”

“Then perhaps you could help me rid you of them for good: I’m looking for Anthousa.”

The woman hesitated, looking between the siblings and the bodies of the men on the ground. She seemed to make a decision. “West of here, under the fort. Look for the fountain.”

“Thank you,” said Alexios, and he and Kassandra left the tent. 

Kassandra removed her helm, and carried it in her arms. 

“Something weird’s going on,” Kassandra said. “A whisper of disrupted power.”

“Yes, there’s a man, they call him the Monger,” Alexios replied. “He’s the power in Korinthia, he’s the reason the Hetaerae are in hiding.”

“Those men?”

“The Monger’s.”

“And the power of the Hetaerae?”

“I’m not sure, but the Monger seems to be eliminating them.”

Kassandra nodded, piecing together the underlying tension that flowed through the streets. “Why were you at the temple?”

“Some of the crew wanted to make offerings to Aphrodite. Korinthia’s reputation preceded it.”

“But why were _you_ at the temple, little brother?” Kassandra teased.

He screwed his face up at her, poking his tongue out slightly. “None of your business,” he mumbled. 

Kassandra laughed and punched him on the shoulder. 

As they reached the fountain, they were greeted by two women, one who was also at the tent they had just left. 

“Misthioi,” she said, opening her hands deferentially. “I came ahead to introduce you. Come, come, inside.” Kassandra and Alexios shared a look, part suspicion and part warning. _Be alert_, they told each other.

She turned and lead them down a passageway. Alexios couldn’t see the spiders or the bugs, but he could feel their homes graze along his head as they descended. He knew Kassandra had no trouble with spiders, but he’d never liked them.

They entered a lit chamber, fire lining the walls. A few women were seated on cushions and rugs, their hair worn long and their dresses highly slit up the sides. 

One woman sat in the centre, and she held a wax tablet in her hands. 

“Khloe? She’s been missing for two days. Any word?”

“No, nothing. I thought I heard her voice near the agora, but it was someone else.”

“Ok,” and the woman made a mark next to a name on the tablet. “And Elpis? Day five.”

“Nothing either. I had an ear to the ground at the port, but no one has seen her on any ships leaving.”

“Anthousa?” 

The woman in the centre turned, and Kassandra was struck by her dark eyes and furrowed brow. There was a different worry written in each wrinkle, and rather than diminish her, it made her powerful.

“Yes? Who are these people?”

“They saved us from some of the Monger’s men, up near the temple.”

“And I suppose their bodies still litter the street, a beacon for further attack. Korinna, please go and clean up the mess.” 

The woman that had lead them in turned and left the chamber, leaving Kassandra feeling somewhat unprotected. 

“What are your names?”

“I’m Kassandra, and this is Alexios. We’re searching for information about our mother.”

“Who was your mother?”

Kassandra grinned inwardly. This was easier than she thought it would be. 

“Myrrine, of Sparta. She may have come here sixteen or so years ago, or since.”

“You’re her children?” Anthousa asked, her breath catching slightly. Alexios could sense knowledge behind her words, and decided to probe.

“We survived the fall off the mountain,” he said. “After our father threw us off.”

“I thought your father only threw Kassandra off?” Anthousa asked, testing the two of them. “Others seek her too, but for reasons that aren’t as noble. How do I know that you’re not one of them dressed as a lost child?”

Alexios’ mouth opened slightly, his thoughts moving his face before they could stop them. She had known their mother, she had heard their story, and she could point them the way. Her version of the story confirmed it.

Kassandra lifted her helm, letting it catch the light. “My father left this to me when he fled Megaris. The Wolf of Sparta.”

Anthousa stood and walked towards Kassandra, reaching out to examine the helmet. To Alexios’ surprise, his sister let the stranger touch it, moving her fingers across the metal sculpture at its top. 

“She was married to the Wolf, yes. The Wolf threw you from the mountain, and you didn’t take his life?”

“I’m not merciful, but I’m also not foolish,” Kassandra said, retracting the helm from Anthousa’s touch. “What do you know of Myrrine?”

Anthousa considered Kassandra through her eyelashes, being a foot or so shorter than the Spartan. 

“I have information that will lead to your mother. But first, I need something done that will lead to the Monger’s head.”

“Name it.”

“I need his supply lines cut. I need his warehouse burnt.”

\--------

“Same old?” Alexios asked as they approached the warehouse. 

“Same old,” Kassandra confirmed. 

It was the way they’d hunted, back in Kephallonia. Alexios preferred his bow over his sword or his spear, and his aim was true, so he would provide support from behind. Kassandra was relieved when he’s first admitted to her that he preferred it this way: it meant he was out of harm’s way while she cut through animals, and later men. 

Before she could tell him to be careful, he’d disappeared to climb the cliff next to the warehouse. Kassandra quickly scouted the grounds, noting that most of the monger’s men were either eating or navel gazing. This suited her perfectly: she didn’t have to get into a scuffle, she just needed to burn the warehouse. 

She snuck through the shrubs and launched herself quietly through one of the windows. She heard a slight murmur, and turned to find a prisoner bound on their knees. She swore under her breath: she wouldn’t be able to quietly burn the warehouse if their prisoners were spotted running away. The alternative was repugnant, even for her, so she freed the prisoner while retrieving her flint from her belt. 

“Any more of you?” she whispered to him. 

He nodded back, and pointed to the other side of the warehouse. Then he ran outside, and Kassandra prayed that he didn’t alert too many to her presence. She lit a torch and ran it across the goods in the warehouse, walking her way to the other prisoner. After releasing him, she threw her torch onto a pile of rags and watched it catch.

“Hey you! Get back here!” An angry yell from just outside where Kassandra was standing made her swear, and she unsheathed her spear in preparation. Then multiple men came through the warehouse door, some carrying water and others just their weapons. They turned on Kassandra, as ash and embers started to rain down on them.

Of course she heard him before she saw him, he was the loudest thing in an incredibly loud burning building. He didn’t even speak, he just crashed through the wall, aiming for what? To bring the building down? To shower Kassandra in debris? To show his insufferable bravery in light of both combat and fire? 

Kassandra didn’t think any of this at the time, though, because she thought the noise was in fact the building falling in on them. It was only later that she tossed the events over in her head, seeking to understand Spartan foolishness. 

He said something, she didn’t hear what, and then launched into an attack on the Monger’s men. His movements were smooth, like liquid fire. He opened for her, letting the push of her spear through and into the chest of one of the men. He was obviously used to working with other people. He left openings where she could slot in, and she did. She covered his back from sword bursts, as he thrusted his spear under her arm. It felt like they’d been fighting together for years. 

Later, Kassandra would piece together why she thought that, and it was him who gave her the final clue. But while they worked, pure instinct took over her and she didn’t need to predict his movements: her body already knew where his would be. 

Kassandra was breathing hard by the time they left the warehouse, both from the fight and the smoke. They’d walked a small distance from the compound and she watched the building collapse in on itself, leaving the Monger’s operations in tatters. Hopefully it would be enough to convince Anthousa to reveal her mother’s location. 

“You fought well. Spartan?” The man said. Kassandra ignored the question as she removed her helm and caught her breath. 

Instead of looking at the man, she searched the surrounding cliffs for Alexios. Not seeing him, she finally deigned to turn to the man who had knocked down a wall to enter a fight. 

“No,” she replied. His hair was as short as his beard was long, worn in the style of Spartiates. Worn in the same style as her father’s. 

”Ah, she speaks,” he said quietly, with humour and almost to himself. She had to remind herself that her spear didn’t always have to answer ridicule.

“Yes we are Spartan!” Alexios called from behind them. Kassandra watched the man’s hand move towards his kopis, even if only by instinct. In return, Kassandra casually flipped her spear over in her hand, as a small reminder to him.

“No, we’re not,” Kassandra said to her brother.

The man shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. “I’m Brasidas, and at least I can confirm that I am.” He laughed at his joke and Alexios smiled in response. 

“I’m Alexios, this is Kassandra. Did you grow up there?”

“Yes, of course. Did you not?”

“No, we didn’t,” said Kassandra definitively, giving her brother a warning look. 

Brasidas looked between them, unwilling to enter the politics of two obvious siblings. He changed the subject.

“Did you target the Monger’s warehouse by accident, or on purpose.”

“At the request of Anthousa,” Kassandra confirmed. 

“Ahh, yes. She and I share a common goal, but differ on how to best reach it.”

“Rid of the Monger?”

“Korinth is Sparta’s ally, but the Monger complicates things. He needs to be eliminated quietly, with minimal movement. Anything else would be too instabalising.”

“Anthousa wants his head, publicly, I suppose?” Kassandra asked, crouching down near some grass to clean her blade. She didn’t need to see his eyes to know that Brasidas was watching her. 

“What did she offer you for your work here?” he asked. 

Kassandra looked up at him then, trying to gauge the measure of him. He was Spartan, and Sparta may still be under the power of a cultist king. He could be cultist. 

But if he was cultist, why would he have assisted her in the warehouse? The Monger’s operations smelt more cult-like than his. And besides, something in Kassandra’s forgotten memory echoed him.

“Information on our mother, we’re searching for her.”

“Was she hetaerae?” he asked in a level tone. Kassandra saw Alexios make a slight face at the implication, but Kassandra ignored it. 

“Not that I’m aware of, but she may have passed through here.”

“What was her name?” 

“None of your business,” Alexios said, his eyebrows furrowed. Kassandra looked at him questioningly, but accepted it. He’d painted very specific pictures of his parents in his head, and so far his pater hadn’t lived up to his expectations so his mater better. He’d likely never forgive Brasidas for his implication. 

“Anthousa promised us information if we burnt down the warehouse, not based on how the Monger was killed,” Kassandra told Brasidas. “Did you know The Wolf?”

Brasidas’ eyes went wide slightly, and flicked to Kassandra’s helm. 

“Yes, he was my General, he trained me in the agoge. He’s the one who sent me here. I see you knew him too.”

“Yes, so perhaps if I assist you in bringing down the Monger how the Wolf envisioned it, you would help me understand some things about him and his family.”

“Perhaps I could,” Brasidas replied quietly, his words measured and considered. 

“My ship is docked in the port, come tonight and we can discuss your plan and the Wolf.”

Brasidas nodded, and bowed to her slightly. After he left, Alexios rounded on Kassandra. 

“He now knows that we seek Myrrine. He could be fishing for our own information, Kassandra,” Alexios said, making a quick stride. “He’s smarter than that.”

“I’m counting on it,” Kassandra said. “I remember him, Alexios, from before. I think he’s trustworthy.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Then I’ll kill him.”

“The hetaerae deserve the Monger’s blood. Anthousa definitely has information on our mother, this Brasidas _might_.”

“I _told_ you," Kassandra said, matching his tone. "I remember him. He’s an idiotically brave Spartan, so maybe he’ll be idiotically brave enough to tell me about the Wolf. If he knew the Wolf, he knew Myrrine. He recognised the helm.”

“Kassandra, it could all be a ruse.”

“Well, if it is, we’ll meet it when it’s revealed. Please trust me, let me lead on this.”

“But you always lead! Can’t you trust me that I don’t like it?”

“Alexios!”

“Kassandra!”

“Look, if I’ve stuffed this up and he’s a cultist, then feel free to tell me ‘I told you so’. Until then, I play both Anthousa and Brasidas until our mater comes to light. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Of course that’s what I want.”

“Then let me find our mater.”

\-------

Alexios and Kassandra split up, the former walking to the temple to meet Anthousa and the latter heading to the Adrestia. Kassandra claimed that she wanted to check up on any messages from her runabout crew, to see if any of them needed rescuing from the lockup, but Alexios knew that she also needed the rest. She’d not slept properly since Delphi, and he was sensing a change in her that concerned him. One thing that came with age: the loss of the infallibility of your parents, or your pseudo-parent. Alexios had parents, but Kassandra would always hold that place for him, despite everything else. 

She had always had an undercurrent of desperate tension, like a spring wound too tight. He’d seen it release on people like the Cyclops, when her tolerance was breached and her brutality ran unchecked. But it was surfacing more and more as they continued, and Alexios was at a loss on how to affect the tide. 

She’d spared their father, she’d promised that she would spare their mother, but the comparative consequences of her murdering her parents were insurmountable compared to murdering cultists. She’d just accepted that she needed to annihilate them.

Alexios guessed that the life that lead his sister to calmer waters was escaping them, but he thought it was somehow linked to Myrrine and Sparta. Maybe Sparta would provide the security Kassandra needed to release the tension she’d been building for years. Maybe there she could become the person first and the protector second. 

He reached the temple while still deep in thought, and almost walked right passed the fountain. 

“Alexios,” Anthousa called. She was alone this time, sitting on her floor cushions with her wax tablet in front of her. “I smell smoke.”

“We successfully destroyed the Monger’s warehouse,” Alexios said.

Anthousa nodded. “Where’s your sister?”

“Resting on her ship.”

“Yes, I think I rested quite a bit after first meeting Brasidas, too.” She wasn’t looking at him, but rather continued her scribbling on her tablet.

“My mother?” Alexios said, letting his rumble fill the cave. 

“Yes, yes, just let me finish this then I’ll tell you of my encounter with her.”

So Alexios waited, eventually moving from foot to foot in his impatience. He knew this tactic, he used it himself, but he was too desperate for what Anthousa was about to tell him to risk flouting it. 

Eventually, she placed the tablet to her side.

“Your mother came here fifteen years ago. How old are you?”

“Almost eighteen,” he answered.

“So seventeen,” she replied dismissively. “You were a year old when you were thrown, not yet able to walk. That’s what she told me. Funny the things you remember. She said that your hair was the colour of sand, I see that that’s changed. She came here in distress, having lost her children, her husband, and her city. I found her on the streets, gave her shelter, let her recover over a few months before she eventually moved on again.”

“Where?” Alexios asked. “Where did she move onto?”

“She won a ship in a game of dice, The Siren Song. Went by the name of Phoenix after, I heard: reborn in fire. What do you remember of her?”

“A red dress and screaming,” Alexios muttered. He was becoming fatigued, all of the subtle hints emerging slowly like the dripping of a gutter. 

_Your mater’s alive._

Drip.

_She goes by Phoenix._

Drip.

_The Hetaerae might know._

Drip.

_She captain’s the Siren Song._

Drip. 

“Anything else?” he said.

“The Siren Song was last seen in Naxos.”

“Thank you.” And he bowed, and left the chamber. 

\--------

Kassandra woke up in the twilight to the light rap of a knuckle on her door. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and her head felt worse for it. She felt as though her head was perpetually sore: she might have to lay off the wine. When she saw who knocked, her head started truly pounding. 

“Who let you in here?” she said, standing. She was still armoured, though without her bracers. She found it hard to write with the leather binding her wrists.

“No one disallowed me,” Brasidas replied. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Yes you did. It takes a special kind of daft to walk onto a deck, proceed under it, and knock at the commander’s quarters while you can see her obviously asleep.”

“So perhaps I did mean to intrude, but I am sorry for it,” he said with humour in his voice. 

Kassandra sighed. “So do I dispatch the Monger before I get information on the Wolf, or after?”

“After,” he replied. “Can we talk here?”

“Yes, but be aware that my brother will show up at any moment and he might never forgive you for calling his mother a prostitute.”

“I never said that.”

“You did, and he’s smarter with words than you are. You won’t ever fool him.” Kassandra directed him to her table and poured them both wine. 

Once they were settled, Brasidas pinned her with a look that contrasted his lounged posture. She felt exposed and probed, but she also finally placed him in her sea of memories.

“The Wolf is your father,” Brasidas ventured. Kassandra nodded.

“Myrrine is your mother.” Again, Kassandra nodded. 

”She broke the King’s nose before she left Sparta.” 

This time, Kassandra didn’t nod, but instead burst into laughter. Brasidas let a smile bloom on his face while she tried to stifle it. 

“I didn’t think you’d know that,” he said. 

“There are many things I don’t know,” she replied, smile fading.

“Did you murder the Wolf in Megaris?”

“No, but I wanted to,” she said honestly. “Alexios stopped me.”

“Because he threw you?”

“No, because he assented to Alexios’ death. I’ll never forgive him for it, but I’m coming to understand it more.”

“I remember you as a child,” Brasidas said. “I remember your father saying that you could best most of the boys in the agoge, and that his pride was training you at home.”

“Only best _most_ of the boys?” she scoffed. 

He grinned. “Well, _I_ was a boy in the agoge then, so you’ll forgive my misremembering of your father’s boast.”

”I remember you, running your errands and small tasks for your General, but you would have been almost out of the agoge by then. Did you know then that you would only deign to be a spy?”

Brasidas chuckled. “This is but one errand, one task. There will be others with more prestige. But I’m happy to have orders from my city. Your city.”

Kassandra shook her head. “No, they abandoned us.”

“You’re Agiad, Kassandra. They’ll never abandon you.”

“They did when they sentenced my brother to death.”

They sat in silence for a time, listening to the sounds of the town in its efforts to bunk down before nightfall. 

“You have to go back, eventually. Your brother has never known it. Did you teach him to fight?”

She nodded. “I taught him how Nikolaos taught me.”

“He taught you well. You fight like Ares, but with your own unpredictable twist. It’s amazing to watch.”

“You’ve been watching me.”

“Since you arrived. That’s how I knew that this was your ship.”

“But you watch everyone.”

“That I do, but then I saw you take down the Monger’s men at the temple, and I started watching more closely.”

He considered her through his eyebrows, and she felt like a piece of fabric being searched for its flaws. Eventually, she turned her eyes away from his appraisal. 

Defying her brother’s instincts, Kassandra decided to trust him.

“I’m hunting a cult,” she whispered, her eyes lowered. 

“Which one? There are many.”

“Kosmos.” Saying the name felt like a summoning prayer, and she almost couldn’t get the word passed her lips. She still wasn’t certain that he wasn’t one of them. 

He was quiet for a time, thinking. “Yes I’ve heard of your cult,” he said finally. “The Monger, he works like they do. I stole a letter from one of his number, from a man with the initial E, calling for chaos and for ghosts to be revealed.”

“Show me.”

Brasidas retrieved a bundle of papers from his rucksack, letting them unfurl on the table between them. He flicked through, looking for the right one. 

“Did you bring these on purpose, or do you always carry them around?”

He grimaced with a touch of humour. “It’s not everyday that you meet an Agiad seeking her mother with questions about a secret organisation: but I thought I’d come prepared,” his eyes flicked to hers, “just in case.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Always,” he replied, still looking through his papers. He came to the right one and passed it to her. 

The hand was Elpenor's, she recognised the scrawl. It spoke of their power base: Elpenor seemed senior to the Monger, but not by much. He chastised him for his brutality, claiming that it was alienating others who wanted power in subtler ways. 

Kassandra passed it back to Brasidas. 

“So the Monger is a cultist. Can we kill him tonight?”

“Keen. We’ll probably have to wait for your brother to return, I don’t want to lose favour with him by doing something without his agreement.”

“Why? I do it all the time.”

Brasidas refilled his cup. “I’m a seer, but no one believes me. Let’s just say I have a feeling about that brother of yours.”

Kassandra made a face at him. It was a joke that had haunted her since childhood: everyone knew the curse of Troy’s Kassandra. 

“Well here’s a prediction for you: he’s going to disagree with our method of murdering the Monger, and want to leave right away to continue the search for Myrrine.”

“I don’t believe you,” he laughed, sending his papers flying. She laughed too, and felt some tension melt from her shoulders.

Alexios arrived after night had fallen, and found them both laughing over stories, both shared and new. He waited a little, an interloper on shared ease.

”...and then, no word of a lie, he cracked his staff over his knee and threw it at his tutor!”

”What a petulant child,” Kassandra replied. “I knew I was right to hate him.”

”He’s a talented tactician, Kassandra. Saved us from a scrape more than once.”

”And how many scrapes could Brasidas of Sparta truly have been in, with such well kept armour.” Her voice was low, and Alexios didn’t like it.

“Naxos,” he said, barging through the door and watching them both leap back from the table. “We need to leave right now for Naxos.”

“Told you so,” said Kassandra to Brasidas, holding her hand out. “Pay up.”

He grunted and produced a coin, lingering his fingers as he placed it into her hand. “So Kassandra can make predictions.”

“So she can,” Alexios replied, no humour in his voice. “If you have to kill the Monger, do it soon. I’d like to make for Naxos tonight or tomorrow at the latest.”

Kassandra nodded, and Alexios left them. 

“He’s very serious for a boy,” said Brasidas. 

“Don’t,” Kassandra replied. “We both had to grow up faster than we should have. He has the wisdom of men double his age.”

“I find that wisdom is given at birth, and rarely increases with age. How did you survive?”

“I grabbed him and ran. And I’ve been doing it since, in one way or another. I killed rabbits, grew fruit, locked him inside all day so he wouldn’t wander off a cliff. I don’t think I’ve ever stopped worrying about that. I get nervous whenever there’s a cliff nearby, despite him never having actually fallen over.”

“I think there’s always a reckoning with trauma like that. Hopefully yours will be short and relatively easy, but it isn’t always.”

Kassandra unsheathed her spear, holding it in front of her. “I hope one day to not have to fight, but it feels like the natural reaction to everything. Maybe that makes me Spartan after all.”

Brasidas touched the spear lightly, letting his fingers dawdle on the shaft where Kassandra’s hand had imprinted from years of use. Kassandra flinched slightly, worried about a possible surge of power that came with new people touching the spear, but none eventuated.

“Sparta is a place, but Sparta is her people. I’ll be glad to welcome you back, when you come. I never was a big fan of Stentor.”

Kassandra laughed. “No, I wasn’t either. Anyway, you heard Alexios, we better get this Monger business settled tonight.”


	15. Naxos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexios and Kassandra seek Myrrine

It took them three weeks to sail to Naxos, and Kassandra had never heard her brother talk so much. Giddy excitement. Questions. Everything he’d ever wanted to know but had barely dared ask. For their whole life, his mother was a spectre that caused his sister distress, so he’d barely mentioned her. He’d asked a few questions after the vision from the spear, but if he was honest, he’d mainly asked about their father. 

Kassandra had taken care of the Monger with Brasidas, returning in the early morning with some new arrows and a purse full of coin. Alexios hadn’t pushed for details: he knew that they would have done it Brasidas’ way, but it didn’t matter in the end. He’d received all the information he’d needed from Anthousa, so the Monger held little consequence. 

“He was a cultist,” Kassandra told him the following morning. “He worked with Elpenor and there are indications that he corresponded with a Priestess of Hera, someone who cares for children. Could be a lead.”

Alexios just nodded in reply. He didn’t really want to know any more about the cult than he needed to, letting Kassandra have rein of it. Maybe if he showed mild disinterest, she wouldn’t fall further into her fanaticism. He hoped, anyway.

The days were cool, even with winter disappearing behind them. The winds were bad, so the Adrestia struggled to make headway, and this could be part of the reason for Alexios’ nervous energy.

“Does she like flowers?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Kassandra replied. “We always had flowers in the house, but I don’t know if she liked them.”

“Did pater get them for her?”

“Yes.” She passed him a piece of an orange that she’d cut, peeling it for him like she used to do in Kephallonia. “He used to pick them on the way back from the barracks. He was older, so was able to come home at night. It wasn’t allowed until men were older.”

“Where did they sleep otherwise?”

“At the barracks with their comrades. It was meant to instill trust. I remember when I was younger, before you were born, I remember pater sneaking into the house anyway. He couldn’t seem to fathom being away from us. We used to fall asleep all together, listening to his stories of the heroes and the Gods. I woke up in my own blankets, and he was usually gone in the morning.”

“That’s what you used to do, too. I remember falling asleep to your stories and waking up in my own bed.”

Kassandra grinned. “That’s where I got the idea. I made me feel safe, feel home.” She peeled another segment and passed it to him on her knife. 

“I’ve missed oranges,” he said, letting some of the juice escape his mouth. 

Kassandra smiled at him. She’d missed oranges too. They’d had heaps on Kephallonia, but hadn’t had any in the eighteen or so months since they’d been gone.

“I’m afraid of Naxos,” Kassandra admitted. It wasn’t a feeling she was used to: fear. 

“So am I, I think. Afraid of what it’ll mean.”

“Don’t be afraid of her,” Kassandra said.

“What?”

“Don’t be afraid of her. I’m worried that you’ve built an image in your head and I don’t want you to be afraid of it. She’s just a person, in the end.”

“I’m not scared, apprehensive maybe, but not scared. I guess I just hope that she’ll be less disappointing than our pater.”

“She’s different, but I can’t guarantee better. She’s harder, but more considered. She’d give you space to figure something out, as long as you do figure it out.”

“But was she a good mother?”

“She’s the only one I’ve known, so I can’t say.”

“I don’t know if I can treat her like a mother, she didn’t raise me.”

“Then don’t, Alexios. Treat her like an aunt, or a matron. Treat her like the woman who wanted to raise you, but couldn’t. I’m sure she mourned us like any mother would.”

Alexios nodded, wiping his sticky hands on his chiton. Then he held them out, palm up.

“Let’s ask the spear,” he said, his voice galvanised. Kassandra turned to him, her face lit distinctively negative. 

“Last time -.”

“Last time I saw her. Maybe this time, I’ll see her again, and I want to know more.” His hands were still outstretched, waiting for his sister to pass him the weapon.

She unsheathed it, but didn’t pass it to him. 

“We’ll do it together.”

As Alexios touched the spear that was still in Kassandra’s grasp, they became surrounded by light and greenery. The afternoon sun shone on them, and the humidity told them it was mid summer. An eight year old Kassandra sat on a flax rug, woven with blue and white, and she was running a wheel across it, singing a spartan lullaby. A woman in a red dress walked towards her, following the tune and singing it in a deeper key, lending the melody to the forest. Kassandra smiled as she approached, and the woman was holding a squirming child in her arms. The woman, their mother, placed the boy down next to his sister, and he immediately reached for the wheel she’d been playing with. Kassandra hesitated only a moment before sending the wheel spinning towards the edge of the mat and into the grass. Alexios squealed in delight, and moved to his hands and knees to chase after it. Kassandra giggled as he reached it and put it in his mouth, chomping down with teeth he didn’t yet have. 

Their mater smiled down at them, but it did not reach her eyes. 

“Pater says that I could have a honey cake tonight,” Kassandra said, her young, melodious voice filling the meadow. “To celebrate the harvest.”

“Did he now,” Myrrine replied. 

“_Both_ of us,” Kassandra corrected, crawling over to her brother and tickling his feet. “Why can’t we attend the songs?” she asked mournfully.

“Because they’re for the helots, not for us. Your time to attend the Spartan events will come, and I’ll take you myself.”

“And Alexios,” Kassandra said, taking the wheel and running it along the rug for him again. 

Their mother didn’t reply, but her eyes glistened in the sun. 

The overwhelming feeling of contentment struck them, but was wisped away as Alexios withdrew his hand from the spear. They fell into the darkness of the cabin. 

“She knew, even then.”

Kassandra nodded. “Mid summer, just before your first birthday.”

“That’s why you were angry, because life continued when they could have prevented it.”

“Yes. And I’ll never forgive either of them for it.”

“You were happy and safe. I ruined that for you.”

“No, no Alexios. Any safety was false. Do you think I would have been unaffected by my baby brother’s death on that mountain? Do you think, if the cult had murdered or caught you, that I would be safe in Sparta?”

Alexios didn’t answer, but squeezed his sister’s hand. 

“She seemed nice.”

“She was a hard task master, but the tasks were mostly fair.”

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

\--------

“Naxos is ahead, commander!”

“What do I even say to her, Barnabas?”

“What do you mean? You’re amazing! Any parent would be proud of you!”

“But how do I start? ‘Hello, it’s me, the daughter you thought was dead.’”

“How about: ‘It’s me, Kassandra.’ Says enough, doesn’t it?”

Kassandra smiled at him, but she felt her face grimace even though she meant for the gesture to be warm. 

“At least it will be easier than Nikolaos,” Kassandra said. “I won’t be as torn this time, edging the precipice.”

She clapped the old man on the back, and turned to her brother. He was sitting on the trunk, quietly running his hands over each other. Kassandra walked over to him and took his hands in hers, stopping his stimming. 

“What if she doesn’t like me,” he whispered finally, just as the call went up to prepare to dock. 

“She already loves you.”

“But what if she doesn’t _like_ me.”

“I don’t think there’s a person in Hellas who doesn’t like you, Alexios. Except me, when you steal my food or beat my blocks.”

He smiled slightly at her, and retracted his hands to stand. They’d decided against wearing armour, and were armed only with Kassandra’s spear and Alexios’ sword. The first was evidence of who they were, the second was evidence of their father. They didn’t know how much she would have heard of them, but people chattered of them as the West Wind, twin forces from Hellas. They’d made port in Chora on their way, and Alexios had gone to the tavern with the crew. He’d heard of the West Wind, the Eagle Bearers, the misthioi who destroyed the Monger of Korinthia. It had been only a few weeks: word had travelled fast. Already, they were being requested to assist with dictators elsewhere, messages coming to the Adrestia regularly. 

The ship struck the dock, and it sent a shiver through Kassandra. Her hands were sweaty, even in the cooling wind. She turned to the trunk and took out a linen shawl, similar to the one she wore with her armour. She placed it over her chiton, and found herself feeling more protected than before. 

“Ready?” Alexios called to her, and she nodded. And together, they made their way up the hill.

\--------

It had started small, a mean word here, a loose tongue there. But it had grown to almost engulf him. Soon they were referring to him simply as _orphan_, the younger children forgetting his name all together. 

He’d run home crying to his sister, too young to understand what the words really meant.

He had _her_. He had a mother, and the children were all wrong.

If Kassandra wasn’t his mother, then who tucked him in at night and kept him safe and fed? Some of their mothers didn’t even do that. 

He held his gift of flowers in his chubby little fist as he waited for her to come home. She’d not been gone long, but he never knew when to expect her. 

Eventually, he heard her feet running to their shack. He burst into tears as she rounded the corner, and she raced to him.

_Alexios, what’s the matter?_ she’d soothed, running her hands through his hair. 

_You _are_ my mother!_ he’d sobbed.

She had looked at him confused, not sure how to respond. 

_I’m your sister, Alexios. You know this._ His six year old wails increased then, making the birds flee. 

_But you’re my mother! What does a mother do if not love you!_

Kassandra then rubbed his hair until his cries subsided. When he was calm enough, she’d spoken in low, hushing tones.

_I’m not your mother, Alexios, but I love and care for you as if I was. Mothers are more than their position. They’re love, and comfort, and grace._

_Do I have a mother?_ he’d asked.

_Yes, we have the same mother. It’ll become clearer as you get older,_ she’d replied.

_Everyone calls me orphan._

_You aren’t, but don’t let them think that. Embrace the term, let it be your badge. Eventually, they’ll see that it doesn’t bother you, and you’ll be Alexios again._

\--------

They followed the directions of the townspeople to the home that belonged to Phoenix. She was the leader of Naxos, and the reverence that filled the voices of the people when they spoke of her made Alexios’ heart leap with hope. 

But when they reached the compound, he found himself unable to move inside. The old doubts filled him, and he looked to Kassandra, imploring her to take the lead. She gave him a small smile, and stepped ahead of him. 

This was easier than Megaris. She didn’t have murder on her mind, just the hope that her mother was intact. 

But no one was intact after Taygetos. Their scars trailed Hellas. 

She was standing at the balcony, overlooking the town. The sun was in front of her, and her silhouette stood stark against the blinding light. She was shorter than Kassandra remembered, her shoulders diminished how Nikolaos’ had been, as if ground into the dirt. Her fingers tapped the wood, a quick rhythm that betrayed her quick mind. 

“The meeting is over,” she called, hearing the siblings’ steps. Kassandra stopped, Alexios a few paces behind her, and unsheathed the spear. Then she walked forward, holding it before her. She was looking down at it, unable to look at her mother’s face. 

Alexios had no such qualms, drinking in every part of her that he could. 

She turned, annoyance lighting her face initially, until she looked down at the ancestral weapon held before her. Her eyes then moved to Kassandra’s face, then to Alexios’ eyes, probing. Her mouth didn’t slacken as Nikolaos’ had, disbelief instead focusing through her eyes. 

“It’s not possible,” she muttered, stepping closer to them. By now, Alexios and Kassandra were shoulder to shoulder, and he knew that there was no mistaking them. They looked just like her. 

“Mater,” Kassandra started, lifting her eyes for the first time. Alexios let his shoulder graze hers slightly, reminding her that he was there, too. 

“Kassandra?”

Kassandra nodded, then looked at her brother, the little boy lost. 

“And Alexios,” she replied. “We survived the mountain.”

Myrrine moved towards them, and Kassandra’s instinct was to engage, but the heat of her brother kept that instinct at bay. Instead, both of them were pulled into a bone crushing hug, their mother’s face between their heads. 

Alexios didn’t hesitate: he returned the hug right away. But it was more difficult for Kassandra, the anger broiling slightly. 

Myrrine pulled away, tears running down her face. “Come,” she said. “I’ll call for wine.”

They sat on the rooftop, food and wine before them. Kassandra didn’t want to give Myrrine the wrong impression of themselves, but it was difficult to fit a whole life into an initial conversation. 

“Naxos?” Kassandra asked, cutting some cheese from the block. “The townspeople we met spoke of you fondly.”

“Yes, I am quite proud of what I have achieved here,” she said. “We’re still at war with Paros, but it’s being managed. But I don’t want to talk about me. Please tell me how you survived.”

“Kassandra took me from the bottom of Taygetos, got in a boat, and found our way to Kephallonia.”

“Kephallonia? You lived on Kephallonia?”

“Yes,” Kassandra said. “I killed rabbits and eventually grew food. I used what you taught me of the hunt and put it to good. I eventually was able to grow fruit.”

“I’m so sorry, Kassandra. You never should have had to.”

“We met Nikolaos, and others since, that have given us glimpses into what happened.”

“Nikolaos?” Myrrine asked. 

“In Megaris,” Alexios offered, his voice constricted.

Myrrine looked between them, then down to Alexios’ sword, further question in her eyes. 

“We didn’t kill him, mater,” Alexios continued. “He told us of the Pythia and the Kings’ decision to follow through.”

“But there’s more to it, isn’t there?” Kassandra asked. “The Cult of Kosmos?”

Myrrine’s face dropped, but recognition did not pass over her face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that there was a plot to murder Alexios, or capture him, and the Cult is behind it. I saw them at Delphi and in Korinthia.”

“The Pythia?”

“Cultist, or controlled by the cult.”

“And you think my cousin was also cultist.”

“The King? Yes, I believe the King was a cultist and that one may still be. Whether it is the Agiad King is another question.”

Myrrine turned to Alexios, the sadness that had been filling her eyes now turned to fear. “You think they’re still hunting you.” It wasn’t a question, but Kassandra answered it anyway. 

“I know that they are.”

“They already tried,” Alexios said. “In Delphi. I was captured and tortured by them.” At this, he drew down the neck of his chiton, revealing the harsh scars that lined his skin. He let his mother take their fill, then he released the chiton and instinctively moved his hands to his braids, their beads still where Kassandra had tied them. He did this whenever his thoughts turned to his experience in the cave behind the Snake Temple.

_Soul. Heart. Life. Earth. Sky._

“You didn’t know of this?” Kassandra asked. 

Myrrine shook her head. “I don’t believe that one of the Kings could be corrupt. It isn’t Sparta’s way.”

“Sparta threw one child from a cliff, and you don’t think that could result from corruption?”

“The prophecy was unfortunate, but we-”

“Unfortunate?” Kassandra said, her voice clapping thunder. “It was planned, all of it.”

“But my cousin, he said that it was providence, that’s why we had to let Alexios go.”

Alexios put a hand on Kassandra’s arm, and she drew on its warmth to prevent the fury building within her from escaping. 

“I understand that you were born and raised under the might of the Agiad,” Alexios said. “But everything is fallible. The Pythia is controlled by the cult. Is your cousin still king?”

“No, his son is. He was exiled for …” Myrrine hesitated, and her breath left her body. “For bribing Perikles.”

“But it’s inconceivable for him to have been part of the Cult?” Kassandra seethed.

“Kassandra,” Alexios said in warning. She threw up her hands at him, but stayed silent.

“I didn’t know, and I’m sorry that I didn’t know,” Myrrine said, sadness in her voice.

Neither of the siblings replied, but Alexios reached out and took his mother’s hand.

He didn’t feel comfort through the touch, but rather felt bound to comfort another person in distress. It was in stark contrast with his current physical connection with Kassandra, where he could feel her tension drain where his hand sat on her arm. He’d just presumed all family shared this connection. But he was wrong. 

Was she better than pater? Was she forgivable because of her ignorance? Or in spite of it? She was as blind to Sparta’s customs as her husband, preferring to just accept the lies spoken to her. 

But she was also fragile, and Alexios knew that this fragility was telling. Any doubt he’d had that she had mourned them, had loved them, had lost them, was washed away by the tears she shed. 

“We’re here, mater,” he said, rubbing her hand. “We’re here and stronger together.”

She nodded, and reached for Kassandra. Kassandra hesitated, looking first at her brother and his earnest expression, then down at the contact offered. Kassandra was angry. Furious. She wanted an inch of regret that wasn’t cowed, that wasn’t hidden beneath sadness. Something that she could address without falling into the trap of her brutality.

But she took the hand anyway, and they watched the sun descend into the west.


	16. Naxos pt two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexios and Kassandra separate and Alexios defends Naxos from Paros.

“You’re getting sloppy, Kass,” Alexios grunted as his sword easily tapped her flank: what would have been a fatal jab if he’d meant it. 

She didn’t reply, but instead pushed through his parry and left a bloody nick on his chin.

“Rude,” he said through his breathing. She grinned at him, drawing her kopis back. 

“I’m impatient to leave,” Kassandra said, using her feet to try and trip him.

“Why? We just got -” he dodged away from her, “-here.”

“It’s been three months,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “But you’re still being hunted. I want you safe.” She pushed his sword from his right hand, but he caught it with his left before she could grab it. 

“You killing yourself won’t make me safe. Take time to rest.”

“No,” she said, parrying him. “I’ve rested enough.”

“But mater-.”

Kassandra successfully tripped him, forcing his breath from his chest. She drew her spear and poked it gently at his neck, her victory. 

“Mater can’t make things safe. I want more answers before we leave, but I need to go and earn some drachmae anyway.” She held out her hand and lifted him to his feet, rubbing his shoulders free of dust as she did so. “I won’t be far, there’s a contract that Barnabas has picked up from Mykonos. Some old man causing trouble for his people. A bit of space and a bit of coin.”

“When will you come back?”

“Soon, Alexios. Don’t fret. And besides, you have your real mother now.”

Alexios made a face at her, hurt running from his eyes to his slightly opened mouth. “I’ll call her mater, Kassandra, but she’ll never be my mother.”

Kassandra sighed, running her hands through her hair, letting it fall from its braid. “It might come with time,” she said. 

“Do you think it will for you?”

Kassandra didn’t answer straight away, using the retying of her hair to delay her answer. “No,” she said finally. “No, I don’t think it will. But you’re different, brother, you have a second chance.”

“I don’t need any other parents.”

“I’m not your mother, Alexios.”

“I know that,” he said defiantly. “But that doesn’t mean that you don’t fill that space. I don’t feel home in her touches, but I feel home in yours.” 

Kassandra could hear his voice straining. She pulled him towards her, letting his head rest on her shoulder, her hands stroking his hair. “I promise that I’ll always be your home, but I just need a bit of space, that’s all. It might be good for you and her to get to know each other without me around, too. And besides, I was always Nikolaos’ favourite.” 

He heard the ring of laughter in her voice, and pressed his lips together. 

“Just promise that you’ll come back.”

“I always come back. But at least I no longer lock you in a stinking hot house before I do.”

\--------

“I just want to have a quick chat, before I leave.” Kassandra had cornered her mother at the kitchen fire, stirring a pot of stew for the following day. She didn’t have the benefit of helots here, even as the leader of Naxos. 

“Anything, lamb,” she replied softly, letting the spoon fall to the side of the pot, making it clang. 

“Alexios is younger than he looks,” she started. She’d planned it in her head before approaching the fire, but couldn’t remember any of it now. She wasn’t an orator in any sense, and she could feel the tension build within her, reflecting her incompetence back at her. 

“He’s almost eighteen,” Myrrine replied. “Men are sent to war at eighteen.”

“He’s not Spartan, so won’t be sent to war. He’s incredibly capable, but I’m just concerned that you might put too much on his plate with Paros. He’s only just recovered from the incident with the cult.”

“He told me of it, a little. Said that you swooped in.”

Kassandra grimaced. “But I’m leaving. I won’t be here to swoop in.”

“I understand your concern, Kassandra. But he’s my son, and I won’t underestimate him.”

“What’s his favourite colour?”

“What?”

“What is his favourite colour? Surely if you’re his mother, you must know.” Kassandra didn’t let her head tilt, but she felt the frustration course through her.

Myrrine sighed. “Kassandra, I know that I haven’t been there for you nearly as much as I should have, but I’m trying to make up for it now. I swear it.”

“It’s yellow,” Kassandra replied, not taking her eyes from her mother. 

_Why are you doing this?_ A small voice asked. _She’s your mother. She didn’t condemn you on the mountain._

_ **But her inaction.** _

_She isn’t the cult. Blame where it’s due._

_ **Blame is due at her feet, too.** _

Though Taygetos hadn’t been her mother’s, or her father’s, or even Sparta’s, plot, their equal inaction had let it occur. They were as culpable.

** _That’s why I do this. That’s why she has to pay._ **

“I didn’t know it was yellow,” Myrrine replied quietly. “What’s yours?”

The harsh voices in Kassandra’s head receded slightly. 

“It’s green.”

“Green like the water, or green like the field?”

“Green like the water. I like how it changes.”

“So it’s different from when you were a girl, then. It used to be yellow, too.”

Kassandra flexed her hand towards her mother, but stopped before making the contact. She let her hand drop. 

“Please take care of him,” she said, pleading. “He looks strong, and he is, but he still needs taking care of.”

“I swear it, he won’t come to harm. But I think the same could be said of you, too.”

“I need space beyond Naxos. He’s with people who will protect him, I just need to be by myself for a little bit.”

They were quiet for a time, mourning passing between them. Their relationship was lost, cast to sea. 

“Why is he hunted?” Kassandra asked finally, the question that had been burning her since Delphi. 

Her mother sighed, then was quiet for a while. Alexios obviously inherited her talent for collecting her thoughts and being able to order them into words. Kassandra felt a tug of envy, but it wasn’t malicious which surprised her. 

“Partially because he’s the Agiad heir. My brother succeeded our father, but he died just after Alexios was born. The throne moved to my cousin, then his son, Pausanias, who holds it today. But there’s more to it. Your grandfather’s spear holds power, have you felt it?”

Kassandra nodded. “It showed Alexios what happened at the mountain when he was eight. Gave him nightmares for years.”

“It has power through our blood. We’re descended from a powerful race, beyond Sparta. It makes us targets, but never this dangerously. I was never targeted as a child, even after my father died. I don’t know what’s changed.”

“Maybe it was inevitable.”

“He’ll be safe here, Kassandra. Now you go and enjoy some time alone. Meet someone new, don’t worry about your brother. That bird of yours can get messages to you, so write to him.”

Kassandra nodded, bid her mother good night, and climbed the trestles to the room she was sharing with her brother. She could tell from his breathing that he was awake.

“Out with it,” she sighed, taking off her sandals.

“I can take care of myself,” he said, and she could tell that his arms were crossed across his chest. 

“I know,” she replied.

“So leave then. I don’t need you here.”

“Look, brother, I’m sorry. But I will be back, I swear it. I’ll bring you back some oranges and flowers. And I’ll write to you.”

“Everyday?”

“As long as Ikaros is available, I’ll ply him with letters.”

\--------

Alexios sat at the northern cliffs of Naxos and watched the Adrestia disappear north, his sister seeking the closest tyrant. You could see Mykonos from the cliffs on a clear day, but the day wasn’t clear. A drizzle fell, soaking him from head to foot as he watched the waves swallow the ship. 

He sighed, sad but not as upset as he had been. She’d delayed the trip for a week until she’d convinced him that she was in fact coming back, and that this was a genuine worry of his surprised both of them. He liked her security, how sure she was. If she was close by, everything would be ok. 

Alexios turned to look west, towards Paros. He’d climbed the cliffs to watch their fleet too, but could barely see it through the cloud cover. They would need to manage it soon, and he told his mother that he could assist her in it. 

He stood up and gently touched his braided hair. His sister had re-done the braids the night before, tightening them from where his hair had grown. She’d whispered the same affirmations to him as when she’d first done it, and he’d almost fallen asleep at the soothing intonation of her voice. _Soul. Heart. Life._

Her voice changed when their mother entered the room, though, and became quieter and hardened. This ritual was for them, only, and she resented interlopers. 

With a whistle, Alexios mounted his horse and began riding to town.

He was barely inside his mother’s compound before her General ran to it.

“Soldiers from Paros!” she huffed, breath escaping her. “Myrrine! The southern beach!”

His mother rushed out of the house, strapping a chestplate as she walked. “How many?”

“At least thirty. Athenian.”

“Then they’ll be vulnerable on land. It’s a distraction. Get Rhode and her arms to the Port. We’ll deal with the soldiers.” She turned to Alexios, and eyed the light leather armour that Kassandra had him fitted for before they’d left Kephallonia. “Is that the only armour you have?”

He nodded, feeling somewhat exposed under his mother’s scrutiny. 

“Kassandra said you mainly range?”

He nodded again, indicating the bow on his back. 

“Your father would be furious,” she laughed, and she mounted one of the horses that sat outside her house. “Come. If you provide aimed support, then I don’t have to feel guilty about leading you into a battle.” She launched into a gallop, and Alexios turned his horse and followed her. 

“I can use the sword,” he started. “I just don’t like to.”

“The best fighters don’t. I see it’s not rusty, so you must use it sometimes. Your father favoured the spear, did Kassandra teach you?”

“Yes, as a child. She bought me a carved staff when I was four, buying it with pelts of the wolves that she killed. She upgraded the weapons as she earnt more money. My first armour was a gift of a she-wolf she killed. She was industrious. Still … still is industrious.”

“I’m proud of her for it,” Myrrine said. 

Alexios didn’t reply, but instead thought about how much those words would inflame his sister. But he didn’t voice it: it wasn’t his to voice. 

They rode to the southern beach, and Alexios could hear the force before he saw them. As they dismounted, his mother lightly touched his shoulder. 

“Don’t engage unless you’re sure. Follow at leas-”

“At least ten paces behind,” he finished. He caught himself after it was said, and looked at Myrrine apologetically. “Sorry, that was always Kassandra’s play. Still is.”

“It’s what I was going to say anyway.” She unsheathed her spear. “Stay to the trees.”

Alexios listened, and positioned himself on the cliff face, sighting his targets. He waited until his mother’s force was in position, and then started shooting on her command. It was easy shooting, but the shooting of men was never easy. They fell in their blood the same as if he’d run them through with his father’s sword. But still, the distance made it easier for him. 

More than once he took the eye out of an assailant that was about to bear down on his mother, but she didn’t turn to him like Kassandra would have, seeking to ensure that he was managing with the death. He guessed that this was just one of the differences between them: that his mother presumed that he was ok with it whereas Kassandra knew that he wasn’t. 

After the battle was won, Alexios climbed down the cliff to the beach. His mother was running through things with one of her commanders, a tall man with head of long hair. As Alexios approached, his mother stopped him with a hand until she’d finished speaking to the man. Once done, she then beckoned him and he walked towards her. 

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, tempering his annoyance at it by ignoring how it made him feel. Small. Meaningless. 

“It’s ok, lamb. My commanders don’t know you yet. Their reports may change depending on whether someone else is listening and I need candor.” She took his face in her hands and stroked it gently. “You’re fine with a bow, I’ve never seen better shooting.”

“Thanks,” he replied, embarrassed. It was like getting praise from a tutor.

“My General is watching the port, so we have some time to go home and rest. Is that what you’d like to do?”

He nodded slowly. He wanted to write to his sister and tell her about his first of many afternoons without her. 

“Timo thinks that Paros will strike with Athenian ships next. We’ll counter them when they come.”

“Not before?”

“Lamb?”

“Why not strike before, if you know they’re coming? Better yet, sabotage their fleet while still in Paros’ port, rendering both the fleet _and_ the port useless. Are you blockaded?”

“No,” Myrrine replied breathlessly. 

“Then engage, while the weather is poor, as the sun sets. They won't be able to see you for fog or for sun. Leave them without eyes and without ships.”

Myrrine looked at him through hooded eyes, her neck craning to see into his face. He was at least a head taller than her, and he looked down with part astonishment that she hadn’t thought of it, and part deference should she decide against it. 

“Jax,” she called to the soldier she had been speaking to earlier. “Send word to Timo and Rhode. We engage Paros’ fleet tonight.” She didn’t take her eyes off Alexios while she spoke, letting her words wash over him. 

“A fine plan, Alexios. But I think your sister would never forgive me should you engage with Paros. Stay in Naxos, and defend if need be.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but his mother’s eyes hardened, and he closed it. Then he nodded, bowing slightly, before he mounted his horse and rode back to the city. 

\--------

Alexios turned eighteen while Kassandra was away. He received a leather package wrapped in yellow flowers from her, courtesy of Ikaros. He opened it eagerly, being careful not to shred the petals that his sister had lovingly placed. The leather opened to reveal a medallion of metal, laurel leaves playing along its edge, and the young, beardless face of Apollo looking up to the right. The reverse side depicted an arrow head, and Alexios touched it lovingly. He picked up the leather and found a note inside, not long, but in his sister’s hand. 

_Happy Birthday Alexios! You’re eighteen!_

_I’m still in Mykonos, but we’ve weakened the Athenians enough to engage their army and I’ll be home soon. I’ll write more later._

_I love you!_

_Kass._

Alexios folded up the paper and placed it with the medallion and the flowers next to his bed. He hoped she would be back by early winter, because he had no idea how he was going to get the whetstone he’d bought her to her via Ikaros. 

But she wasn’t back by her birthday. He sent her something smaller, something that the eagle could carry, as well as long letters. But it wasn’t the same, not being able to celebrate with her. A lingering doubt entered him: one that he’d thought he’d banished before she’d left. 

What if she didn’t come back? 

It was foolish, and she’d be mad that he thought it. But he missed her terribly. She was wrong, and he hadn’t warmed up considerably to his mother. Though he liked her, and respected her, she wasn’t Kassandra. He could sense Myrrine training him, and it unsettled him. She adjusted his thinking and speaking, corrected his tone when speaking to advisers, taught him the history that Kassandra had skipped over. 

It was a formal education and Alexios felt fooled. 

He wrote all of this to Kassandra, and she’d replied for him to hang in there, that she would be back soon. 

_But then what? Then what do we do?_ he’d written.

_I think we go back to Sparta_, she’d written back. _ I’m working with Spartans here and they’re good people. Brasidas is in Sparta. Our father might have returned._

Alexios crumpled up the letter when he received it. He’d wanted to see Sparta since he was a boy, still wanted to. But if it was anything like the constant prodding of his mother into a role that he didn’t want, then he’d happily sail the Aegean with Kassandra for the rest of their days. 

Then, out of the blue, almost literally, Kassandra returned. She wasn’t smiling, and though her coffers were full, she was diminished. 

He ran to the dock when he saw the sails, flying over obstacles and through the town. They all knew him now, and he shouted apologies as he ran. 

He launched himself into her arms and she squeezed him so hard he thought he might burst. Then he felt her sobs against his shoulder and hugged her tighter. 

“It didn’t work out,” she whispered. “We killed the tyrant, but she chose the Spartan.”

“What are you talking about, Kassandra?”

“Her father. He was the cultist and the tyrant. I killed him, returned the island to the rebels, but she decided that she loved the Spartan.”

Alexios had never heard this kind of tone in her voice before, but he recognised the regret in it. His sister was broken-hearted. 

“Come on,” Alexios said, half dragging her down to their cabin on the Adrestia. 

She looked up at him, and smiled lightly through her sheen of tears. “You’ve grown.”

“Well I’ve been eating my weight everyday, if you must know. Anything to save me from strategy lessons.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later. But you tell me about why you’re sad.”

“I told you. Even after all I did, all the moments at the temple and the blood I let for their cause, she chose someone else.”

He sat her down at the table and gathered cups from the dresser. There was no wine left, so Alexios left her in the cabin and went to speak to Barnabas.

The old man clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you met us at the dock. She’s had a nasty shock. She really loved that girl, I think.”

“I’ll get the story out of her. Any wine?”

“Oh yes, in the trunk.”

Alexios returned below to find his sister undoing her braid and laying the leather binds on the table between them. He filled their cups, and gestured to her. 

“So who was she?”

“Kyra,” Kassandra said. “She lead the rebellion that originally sent me word. She sent word to the Spartans too, because the leader was aligned with the Athenians. Thaletas was the Spartan’s name, initially he reminded me of Brasidas, but he was brasher.”

“Did you join the Spartans?”

“Yes, in battle, but they left the sabotage to me. Kyra planned, and we acted. We used to discuss in a cave under the town, but then we’d meet at the Temple overlooking the sea. Her skin was so soft, like butter.”

“Was she a good strategist?”

“The best on the island, but not secretive about it. She told us all how things would play out, so we knew our part. She never laughed at stupid questions, even after, when we talked about it. ‘Everyone is their own selves’, she used to say. She had faith in everyone, but hesitated to show it. The first time I met her, she threw a knife at me while winning a drinking competition.”

“But she chose someone else.”

Kassandra nodded through a sob. “I loved her so much, brother.”

“Did she know that?” 

She nodded again.

“Then it's her loss,” Alexios announced, leaning back. “You’re second to no one, Kassandra.”

Kassandra didn’t answer, but squeezed his hand. They were quiet for a long time, but eventually Kassandra spoke.

“How is Naxos?” she asked. 

“It’s kept,” he said. “We dealt with Paros, too. They’re beyond being able to attack again. Mater has been using this time for succession planning.”

“The strategy training?”

“Yes, and no. She is training her second, Timo, to take over, but she’s obviously taken an interest in teaching me politics. I hate it.”

“I can understand that. You know why, right?”

“Sparta.”

“Sparta,” Kassandra confirmed. “The Spartans on Mykonos were easy to get along with, even Thaletas. Maybe the city will be the same.”

“I’m sorry about Kyra,” Alexios said. 

“So am I,” Kassandra replied. “But if I’m being honest, I would have returned sooner if I hadn’t loved her.”

Alexios felt a mild sting at the confession, but let it sink down into his gut. He would deal with it when his sister wasn’t so fragile. 

“That’s fair,” Alexios said. “Take time, there’s no rush for us to go anywhere yet. But mater is keen to have our citizenship returned to us.”

“Did she ask us if we wanted it?”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t know. If Spartans are like Brasidas, then I do. But Sparta also lets babies be thrown from mountains, so I’m not sure.”

“Well, if we don’t like it, we can leave.”

Kassandra shook her head. “We need permission to leave, as citizens. We’d need the permission of the crowns.”

“Kassandra, we’re the West Wind. I’d like to see them try and stop us.”

She laughed at him, then the smile fell from her face and she remembered her sadness. 

“Go to bed,” he said, indicating her cot. “I could do with some sleep too. I’ll be right here with you.”

“You’ve grown,” she said, squinting at him slightly. 

“You said.”

“No, you’ve matured. I’d be less inclined to lock you inside now.”

He tucked her into her cot and sat with her until she fell asleep, tears rolling down her cheeks. He sat back and thought of all the times she’d done the same for him: through his nightmares, through his pain, through his embarrassment. 

Never once had she made him feel less for crying. Never once had she told him to quiet, to keep it inside, that it was shameful. He’d not cried in front of his mater yet, but he already knew that she would shame him for it. 

Kassandra was his rock, his family. The others were just bonuses, but he knew that their time apart had changed them both. 

He no longer needed her to be constantly aware of him. She no longer felt he was the only person she was capable of loving. He hoped that as they sailed to Sparta, they would fall into the relationship that they had been so viciously denied: that of brother and sister.


	17. Sparta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The petition to the Kings for citizenship.

“Here,” Alexios said, holding out a rounded object wrapped in leather. “I couldn’t give it to you at your last birthday, so here it is.”

“It’s not my birthday yet,” Kassandra said, her eyes widening as she took it from him. “It’s still late spring.”

“You’re right, but it’s soon, and I think you need a new one of these anyway.”

As she unwrapped it, it fell slightly out of her hand and she dropped it. Alexios quickly caught it before it could fall into the deck of the ship, falling to one knee to reach it. She grimaced at him in apology, and took it from him again. A whetstone, carved with her name around the outside. She lightly touched the lettering, feeling the depth of the engraving. 

“Did you carve this?”

Alexios nodded. “I thought you needed one of your own, rather than us sharing one. It was too heavy for Ikaros to carry to Mykonos.”

He looked quickly to her eyes, and saw them tense slightly. Time had passed, but not enough to dull the sharp pangs in her gut. 

“I love it, Alexios. It’s perfect.”

He rubbed her shoulder, and left her at the front of the deck. He walked to the stern, taking a _periploi_ out of his pocket. 

“Barnabas?” he asked, unrolling the paper. “Can you teach me how to use this?”

The ship captain beamed at him as he approached, always incredibly enthusiastic to share his knowledge. 

“A periploi?” Barnabas said, taking the paper from him. “For the Peloponnese?”

Alexios nodded. “It was a part of mater’s papers from when she was a pirate, she said I should take it and study it.” Alexios had lost any of the airs he’d had about his mother in the two or so years since he’d known her. She had been a pirate which in itself brought with it a lack of honour. Not that he cared, he’d only really cared when strangers spoke against her. “Can you teach me how to read it?”

“Yes, I can.” Barnabas looked down at the list of ports and the distances between them. “But we’re travelling the open seas, so won’t use a periploi.”

“That’s ok, I just want to know for when I do have to use one.”

“Looking for a life at sea, Alexios?”

“If I don’t like Sparta, then maybe?”

“Ha! Good luck getting your mother to agree to that!”

Alexios grimaced, but he knew the old man was right. He was being distinctly trained for Sparta and its institutions. He changed the subject.

“When do you think we’ll arrive?”

“We’ll enter the bay closest to Sparta in about a week, then you’ll have to go overland. Sparta is landlocked, that’s why their army is so effective in land battles. On ships though …”

“They lose,” Alexios finished. Sparta avoided sea battles because the Athenians were overtly dominant, and it was a waste of men to let them drown at sea before even arriving for battle. Alexios had thought on it a lot. He hadn’t had a hand in Naxos’ sea dominance over Paros, except the noting of the favourable weather and the element of surprise that they should exploit, but from what he’d heard, it had made the difference. The fact that his mother hadn’t even considered the possibility of attacking first at sea still shocked him. 

“So, teach me how to use these papers.”

Barnabas smiled at him, and they started Alexios’ maritime training. 

\--------

They rode into Sparta on the most expensive horses they could find, ensuring their height and stamina meant that the trio would not be missed by neither the crown nor the citizenry. They rode past the agoge, and Kassandra silently thanked the Gods that Alexios had skipped it. Though no longer innocent, she’d tried to stave off any brutal decision making until he was in adulthood. He was there now, though she knew he was incapable of being brutal: his compassion was one of his defining traits. 

She could see two boys fighting wolves, designed to make them strong, or Sparta strong through the elimination of their weakness. One of the wolves launched for a boy’s hand, and she heard him yelp. Alexios turned his head sharply towards the noise, and Kassandra hummed at him in warning. He didn’t need another reason for Sparta to throw him from a cliff. 

“That was a child,” he said forcefully to Kassandra as he turned his horse toward the noise. “A child is hurt.”

“Alexios,” Kassandra warned quietly. Myrrine looked between them, trying to decipher their language. 

“What? You heard the yelp.” He moved his horse towards the agoge, and Kassandra hissed at him.

“Don’t make yourself a target here.”

“I’m a target wherever I am,” he countered angrily.

“We’re in the shadow of Taygetos, and you flaunt your life so easily. Don’t waste what I bled for, here of all places.”

“They need to undertake this trial, Alexios,” Myrrine said, only slightly understanding the argument. “Their weakness must be weeded out if Sparta is to remain strong.”

Kassandra closed her eyes slowly in frustration. Of all the things that would absolutely galvanise her brother to act, the idea of children being killed for their perceived weakness was definitely one. 

“Deal with it politically,” Kassandra said, turning her horse around to block his. “Take your petition to the Kings. These people don’t know you, don’t incite the citizenry before making yourself known to them.”

“You taught me to know when to speak, but also to know when to act.” He was almost shouting. “These children are in danger _now_.”

“It is Sparta’s way,” Myrrine said sagely, turning and riding down the next crest. 

_Please shut up,_ Kassandra thought as she watched her mother ride away. She bet that Myrrine now thought the matter dealt with, as the adherence to Sparta’s laws were paramount. 

But Alexios didn’t give a shit about Sparta’s laws. He focused on his sister, furious. 

“How don’t you care? You said that you were glad that life had turned out how it had so I wouldn’t be subject to the same things those boys are falling to.”

“Much must change in this city, but those boys are being watched by the army commanders. You want them on side, trust me. Fight it in the throne room, not here.”

“What makes you think they’ll listen to me there?”

Kassandra gave him a pointed look. Since he’d mentioned the strategy lessons that Myrrine had been inflicting on him, Kassandra knew the only way this would go. No one cared about her blood, her femininity prevented it other than the possibility of her future sons, but Alexios was different. Alexios was Agiad. Alexios was of age. And most important of all, Alexios was in Sparta. Kassandra had felt a mild sadness when they entered the city, but she didn’t want to tell Alexios that he might never be allowed to leave. 

“They’ll listen, brother. Trust me. Don’t interfere.”

Alexios still looked furious, but he turned his horse and followed Myrrine down the crest, towards the city. 

Kassandra looked back at the agoge. The trio of boys had bested the wolves, but one lay dead on the ground. Men were picking him up and moving him back towards the camp, back towards Taygetos. 

\--------

Kassandra gasped when they rode into their old yard. She’d recognised it from her dreams and nightmares, things barely having changed. She found herself frozen, unable to dismount, unable to speak.

There was the weapons rack that had held her staff. 

There was the step where she’d first heard Alexios’ screams as he was born.

There was the window that she had fallen out of, chasing a bird. She still had the scar. 

Her breath escaped her and her mind clouded in. She didn’t want these memories. Their loss was painful. Their loss was telling. 

She came back at Myrrine’s touch, her hand grazing Kassandra’s where her knuckles had turned white around the reins. She looked down at her mother, years of knowing passing between them. She likely hadn’t been back since Taygetos, either.

Kassandra took her hand and dismounted, then walked towards the weapons rack. It was empty except for some spare arrows and Kassandra picked one up, looking at its workmanship. The shaft was slightly warped from having been out in the rain.

“If we don’t own the house, who does?” Kassandra asked, still crouching on her feet.

“Stentor does,” a voice said from behind her.

“Brasidas!” Kassandra called, standing and reaching for his forearm. Alexios did something similar. “It’s been a while. They let you leave Korinth?”

“A few years of painstaking work and I’m back in Sparta,” he smiled. “I saw you above the agoge, arguing.”

Alexios’ brow, which had returned to its normal unblemished state, began to furrow again. Kassandra rolled her eyes, seeing the probe of a spy and choosing to ignore it. 

“Stentor owns the house?”

Brasidas only looked slightly disappointed by her change of subject. “Yes. Once Nikolaos was declared dead in Megaris, it moved to Stentor. Now that you’re back, I’m sure you could claim it. It would require a petition from the Kings.”

“Are they in the throne room?” Myrrine asked, absent-mindedly tightening her bracers. 

“Yes, and I think in a fairly good mood. They like spring: the flowers,” he said, gesturing around them. The trees were in full bloom, and Kassandra could smell the sweetness of their offerings.

“Then let’s get it over with, then,” Alexios said, his temper flaring. He started walking towards the circle in the centre of the city, and Myrrine followed him. Kassandra and Brasidas fell in step behind. 

“I was wondering if you’d make it back to Sparta,” he said quietly.

“There were complications in Naxos: Paros was a trouble.” Kassandra said in a light tone that in no way betrayed the horrible couple of years she had had since they’d last seen each other. Mykonos and Kyra were private.

She shook her head of the thoughts, returning herself to Sparta. “Are you a General yet?”

He laughed at her. “No, not yet. I’m currently training the agoge: strategy and spycraft. Only some of the older boys, though: Archidamus is getting old, and he thinks his son needs further instruction. Hence why I saw your argument.”

Kassandra sighed. “I’m glad you’re here, at least. I already feel the air pressing on me.”

“Chin up, Spartan.”

“Tell me again when we actually become Spartan.”

He smiled at her, then jogged to catch up with Myrrine and Alexios. Kassandra watched him run, letting her gaze run over his _pteruges_ as it flicked up above his knees. The bronze of his skin matched her own, and the leather moved smoothly with him. 

Kassandra caught up just as Brasidas entered the throne room. Kassandra cornered Alexios just before they entered. 

“Use your skills on oration. Forget the agoge. This is the first step to changing things.”

He nodded at her, but she could see the strain behind his eyes. 

She placed her hands on his shoulders “Don’t fret. Not much hangs on this, so don’t worry.”

“What if I reveal that I don’t want citizenship if it means I condone the killing of boys?”

“Don’t underestimate yourself Alexios.”

He nodded again, and they entered the throne room together.

Brasidas was speaking to the Kings, and they walked to stand next to their mother. 

“... rid of an internal threat in Korinth, enabling the fulfilling of Sparta’s needs there. Aside, they are your kin, King, and have returned to Sparta in her hour of need. Alexios assisted Myrrine in the routing of Paros’ Athenian fleet, sending three triremes to the bottom of the sea. Kassandra fought with Sparta in Mykonos, lending her skills to -”

“Enough, Brasidas,” the older King said. A laurel sat upon his head, making his red face look bloated. “Step forward, Alexios and Kassandra.”

The siblings did as requested, and they both instinctively stood to their full height. The older king stood to look at them, but the younger did not. Kassandra kept her eyes low.

“My King,” Alexios started. His voice was calm and collected, and Kassandra could hear his control through every syllable. “We come not as agitators, but as hopefuls. We hope to have our home in Sparta, where our ancestry lies on both sides. We hope to hold her to glory, through her wars, through our own prowess in battle and through our children.”

“How do we know of your prowess, man, when you’ve not entered the agoge? No citizen shall be called who has not completed Spartan training.”

Kassandra tightened. She knew of this requirement, but had discarded it as irrelevant. Anyone who saw him in the field wouldn’t doubt Spartan training. 

“I have completed Spartan training,” Alexios said simply. “Kassandra taught me what Nikolaos taught her. Stentor has seen me in the field, as has Myrrine. Call them as witnesses.”

The Kings looked between each other. “No,” said the elder, “no, I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Kin?” the younger King said from his seat. “How, kin?”

“They are Leonidas’ grandchildren, through me,” Myrrine said, bowing only her head. “Leonidas was your great, great uncle.”

“I see,” said the younger. “Close enough to kin, then.”

Myrinne nodded, bowing slightly. 

“And you want your house back?” The older King said forcefully. “With this one being condemned and this one killing an elder, you think Sparta wants such citizens?” He’d pointed at each Kassandra and Alexios in turn, stating their respective crimes. Kassandra seethed, but let nothing show on her face. 

_Condemned._

“My King, both of them have proven loyalty to Sparta in battle. They enabled the victory in Megaris, Korinth, Naxos, and Mykonos. They ar-”

“Enough, Brasidas. I heard it the first time you said it. Further proof is needed.” He looked at the siblings, tilting his head back so he looked at them along his nose. Alexios resented the examination, who were these people to decide his and Kassandra’s worth? 

“We are fighting in Boeotia, and need support there. Bring me Boeotia, and I’ll give you back your house.”

“How goes Sparta in Boeotia?” Kassandra asked.

“Badly. Bring me victory.”

“Wait,” the younger said. “Two Kings, two tasks. Bring me Olympic victory. Sparta’s champion needs a chaperone to Elis.”

The siblings both bowed in unison, and left the throne room, not letting their backs face the Kings. 

Once they were outside, Kassandra sighed heavily. She’d held her breath during the entire exchange. “How are we supposed to claim a whole territory for Sparta?”

“Do what you did in Mykonos,” Brasidas replied. 

Kassandra looked at him with a mix of anger and question. “How did you know about that?”

“You were working with Sparta? There’s only one misthios I know who could enter Delos and kill their Athenian commanders, without anyone knowing, and she's known as the West Wind. That, and Thaletas mentioned you in his reports.”

“Thaletas?”

“He was a Spartan commander, no? His reports came to me. I may be a lowly spy and teacher, but I still have a hand in managing Sparta’s army. Especially since your step-brother is abroad and your father is presumed dead.”

She wasn’t handling this conversation very well. Her palms were sweating and her eyes were darting around the courtyard where they all stood. How much did Sparta know of her and her movements? How far did the creep crawl through the world? Alexios touched her shoulder and shook her slightly. 

“We don’t have to,” he said quietly and only to her. “We can get back on the Adrestia and sail away.”

“No, we can’t,” she replied. “What about the cult? They have a grip here, we have to stay and fight it.”

Alexios didn’t reply, but instead just squeezed her shoulder. The cult was an obsession. Maybe she would only be sated when it was destroyed. 

Alexios left Kassandra and Brasidas outside the throne room and started walking with Myrinne back to their house. Since Stentor wasn’t in the city, they could squat there until they gained it back. Kassandra watched them go, the sun blinding her slightly and making their movements sway in silhouette. They rounded a corner and she lost them from view. Kassandra breathed into her nose and out through her mouth.

“Boeotia won’t be difficult,” Brasidas said in a soft tone, like he was speaking to a wounded animal that needed his trust. “But your brother is the strategist, no offence.”

“None taken, you’re right. But I don’t want him in battle.” Kassandra’s mind flew back to Megaris, almost three years before. “He’s only been a part of one, and he lost his stomach.”

“We all do the first time, I think. What do you propose?”

“I take Boeotia; he escorts the Olympic champion.”

“Will he do it, do you think?”

“I won’t give him a choice.”

Brasidas shook his head at her, and the braid that ran down the back of his neck moved to lay on his right shoulder. It was tied with beads, and Kassandra moved her hand to touch them. He watched her hand advance, his eyes flicking to hers. She flexed her fingers and retracted them, forgetting herself. 

“If you do go to Boeotia,” he said, “I could use your help in Arkadia on your way back. The grain that feeds the army is going bad, and I need to investigate.”

Kassandra nodded at him, then grasped his forearm in good bye, and walked back to her familial home. In her mind, she began preparing what she would say to convince Alexios to split up to complete the tasks separately. Inside, she knew it was no use: he would beg and plead and eventually it would be her iron will that would make him agree.

He was safer in Elis, and she’d send him oversea with Barnabas. Deliver the champion, and be back in Sparta before he knew it. 

She just had to hope that Sparta posed him no danger while she was away winning a country.


	18. Boeotia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassandra goes to Boeotia.

It took weeks to convince Alexios to take Testikles to Elis, and longer for the errant fighter to be ready for the trip. 

Kassandra put up all the usual arguments, but the one that stuck was her forcing him to revisit Megaris and the slaughter he undertook. He wasn’t proud of it, and she knew that it was a wound that wouldn’t heal. So she exploited it. 

“Boeotia is fierce fighting,” she said to him as they sparred. “It isn’t Megaris: Megaris was within Sparta’s hand before we showed up.”

“I’m not a babysitter,” he huffed at her.

“Nor are you a soldier. There’s no shame in that, but strengths where they lie.”

“I’m a better strategist than you.”

She laughed at that, and saw it coming. Brasidas had said the same to her. “They don’t need me for strategy, they need me for sabotage and brute strength. And we will become citizens faster if we split up.”

Alexios grunted at her, then disarmed her using a thrust he’d been taught by Brasidas at the agoge. The older Spartan had argued for Alexios’ admittance to the third wave and to be brought directly under his instruction, along with Archidamus’ son. They were around the same age. 

Kassandra’s mouth dropped open as her brother grinned at her. He’d rarely bested her, but mainly because she taught him. He hoped to make her chin drop more in the future. 

“Bloody Brasidas,” Kassandra seethed as she picked up her kopis, but Alexios could hear the pride in her voice. 

“He doesn’t mind me using the bow,” Alexios said. “Not like the others, they shame me for it.”

“They just can’t shoot,” Kassandra said simply. “I’m sorry we have to separate again, but I’ll be back from Boeotia before you know it.”

Alexios nodded. “Maybe Barnabas and I could watch the Olympics.”

“I think he’d love it, but don’t be too bored by his stories of Heracles.”

“I love his stories. They brought me out of a nightmare more than once.”

Kassandra draped her arm over his shoulders as they walked back to the house. “Do you like it here?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not sure yet. The agoge troubles me. There’s not enough focus on the arts: music, pottery, writing are all considered lowly. I understand that war is important, but to leave the rest to the perioeci? Seems ill considered. If boys aren’t fit for the agoge, rather than kill them, why not channel them into arts or philosophy?”

“Because it would weaken the army, and the resolve of the men in it.”

“Then let the girls undertake the art. Teach them philosophy.”

“Women are taught to run the state while the men are away. They aren’t left idle.”

“I just think there are better ways of doing things,” Alexios finished, annoyed.

“What you’re actually saying,” Kassandra said in her warning voice, “is that Sparta should become more Athenian. One symposium, and you’re all ears for the old men of Athens.”

“No, no I’m definitely not!”

“Okay, but maybe redefine those thoughts because they’ll eventually exclude you from any position of power here.”

“Well Agis disagrees anyway, and he’ll succeed his father soon.”

“Do you get on with him?”

“Fairly well. I can’t beat him when we spar, but I do beat him in strategy games and rhetoric.”

Kassandra smiled lightly, and hoped that Alexios’ time here would be easier than it had been when he was a baby.

“I need you to do something for me,” she said as they neared the house. They walked around the side to the back door to wash up. 

“What?” Alexios answered through a bite of his apple. 

“I need you to be vigilant.” Kassandra wasn’t looking at him, but she swore that she could hear the roll of his eyes. “No, I’m serious. Keep your small knives with you at all times. Scream if you have to. If there is a hint of Sparta rejecting you, disappear and I’ll find you when I get back.”

“I’m hardly going to let them walk me out of the city, or over a cliff,” he said annoyed. “They bested me once and they won’t again.”

“Stay in the city once you’re back. The crew will look after you in Elis.”

“Kassandra, it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Besides, mater and Brasidas are here.”

Kassandra shook her head. “Brasidas is leaving for Arkadia soon. I’m meeting him there on my way back from Boeotia.”

“So mater then. I know you think she’s a bit of an idiot - no, don’t deny it - but she was taught to fight by her father and brother and can hold her own.”

“Please jus-”

“I’ll be careful,” he said flippantly. “Now you have to promise me that you won’t be killed on the battlefield of Boeotia, or in Arkadia.”

“I can do that.”

\--------

Kassandra rode north alone. The weather was losing its heat as summer came to a close, but birds were still busy feasting in the last days before winter. It didn’t snow in the lowlands, but Kassandra had packed her furs just in case. She still had the shrug that she had made for herself from the she-wolf’s pelt when she was sixteen, and it had protected her admirably from rain and sleet since. 

She thought of her father, and his escape from Megaris. She would travel through the country on her way to Boeotia, and Sparta still held it. It had been years since the Spartan’s had taken Megaris and no one had seen or heard from the Wolf in that time. Kassandra may as well have killed him for the help he gave to Sparta in the war. But, she supposed, that was Elpenor’s play all along: to ensure the war continued to make him a profit. 

_But you’ve profited too. The coins of the dead jangle in your pockets just as they did his._

Kassandra didn’t distinguish herself from the cult based on a repulsion of their methods, in fact she thought some of their methods were efficiently fruitful. Their communication was frustratingly vague, their members were annoyingly loyal, and their interference with Hellas was both widespread and coldly calculated. She could respect the methods.

But they’d chosen the wrong boy to hunt; the wrong boy to condemn. 

_”With this one being condemned and this one killing an elder, you think Sparta wants such citizens?”_

Sparta thought it held the power over them; that their display of humility betrayed their need for home. But Alexios and Kassandra didn’t need Sparta, or her institutions, or her armies. What they needed was home, and that home lay with each other. 

She knew what Sparta as home meant. She knew that her traditions, customs, and expectations would eventually come for the siblings. Alexios had saved her from more than one aggressive proposal, and as her brother, he could save her from more. Offers would come to him in their father’s absence, and Kassandra knew that he would pass them along to her and her mother for consideration without comment. From there, Kassandra could veto, or her mother could veto. It was a family arrangement, and Sparta was always in want of strong, fast, capable children to fill the armies that conquered cities. Women’s agency was paramount in this: how could she educate and prepare her children for slaughter if she hated her husband?

But at least she wasn’t married at fourteen, like happened elsewhere. 

Her mind turned briefly to Xanthe, Alexios’ childhood love. She would be eighteen or nineteen now, probably with children. Kassandra sent a silent prayer to Hestia for her safety. But more than her safety: for her agency. A small thought of rescuing the girl from her marriage flew through her mind, but Kassandra dismissed it before it could perch. She couldn’t save everyone in Hellas. 

Kassandra would be lying if she said that Kyra wasn’t on her mind when she thought about settling down. Not that it would have ever happened. Though Kassandra was hers to love and hold, Kyra had never, would never, belong with her. She was a bird flying free, settling on each branch as it suited her and bringing colour to the trees that she visited. Kassandra’s love for her was sublime, engulfing. It was violent and intense and gifted into her hands like a pocketful of sand, then left to sieve through her fingers before she could catch the beauty of it. 

The ache had lessened, the tears had stopped, and Kassandra could now think of Kyra without remembering the sting of rejection.

Kassandra sighed, and continued north.

\--------

“I’m here to fight with Sparta. Can you pleas-.”

“You!” A familiar voice yelled from up the hill. Kassandra turned, searching through the soldiers. 

“Stentor?” she said, surprise colouring her tone and hiding its disgust. 

He aimed for her, drawing back his fist to strike, but she dodged away from him. Even she wasn’t so brash to attack a Spartan commander in a Spartan war camp. Well, not anymore, anyway. 

He reached for his spear, and Kassandra could see the vein in his neck pulsing. A small thought tugged at her mind, that he was straining under his role and needed the same calm hand that Kassandra herself craved. But in the same thought, she found that she didn’t care. 

“I’m here to help you, you idiot!”

“Not after Megaris, not after what you did!”

She pulled out her spear in response to his advance, and with the other hand, retrieved her royal orders from the Kings.

“King Archidamos sent me to aid you in securing the region.” She held the seal above her head so that even the hoplites saw it. 

Stentor threw his hands into the air, whether to seek the Gods’ vengeance upon her, or to call down the lightning himself, Kassandra didn’t know.

He punctured her with a furious stare and gestured her to follow him to the cliff edge. Kassandra wasn’t stupid, so she let him both lead, and be between her and the fall.

“The Gods are punishing me with your presence,” he said in resignation. 

“If I was your punishment, you’d already be dead.” She was speaking flippantly, but the tug of her conscience pestered her. She knew more now than when they’d first met in Megaris. 

“Why are you here?”

Dozens of reasons wanted to alight Kassandra’s mouth. 

Because the Kings needed a test of loyalty.

Because our home is withheld from us.

Because citizens are the only ones who can shape Sparta for the better.

Because it wasn’t my parent’s fault, in the end.

Because this draws me closer to the cult’s heart.

Because Sparta is what my brother wants. 

Because Sparta is what I need. 

“To help,” she said simply. “I’m an ally to Sparta, and to you Stentor.”

“We are not allies, misthios. Does your brother stay in Sparta?”

“Yes, not that it’s any of your business.” Kassandra could feel her thin line of compassion twang.

“And where does he stay? You have no house, and no land.”

“In your house of course, until it becomes mine again.” _Twang._

“The Kings didn’t give you a house? Feel entitled to my leftovers then.”

“It was Leonidas’ house before. You know, my grandpater?” _Twang._

“But you won’t gain it back, when you killed pater it went to me.”

Kassandra was focusing so hard on her temper that she visibly balked at Stentor’s words.

“What?”

“Oh, don’t pretend that you don’t know Sparta’s inherita-”

“Stentor, I didn’t kill pater.”

This time it was Stentor that balked, but instead of surprise, his shock was replaced by fury.

“You dare?!” he yelled. “You dare to deny it?”

“Yes, I deny it. I didn’t do it.”

“Then how did the West Wind obtain his helm?” his sarcasm bit through, and Kassandra felt his strain.

“Is that what this is about?” she asked more harshly than she had intended. “You want his helm?”

“I’m his son! Of course I want his helm!”

“You’re fucking ridiculous, Stentor. He gave it to me - yes, gave - and I’m his first _born_, so I’m entitled to it.”

Stentor cracked and punched her in the face. She stumbled back, unprepared for the blow. She spat out blood and wiped her mouth clean through heavy breaths. 

“Just give me my orders so I can get the fuck out of here and win Boeotia for you.”

“My lieutenant will give you the names of the Athenian champions that I need killed. Hopefully you don’t come back.”

“Small favours,” she said quietly. Then she bowed slightly, and left him to the cliff.

\--------

The champions were almost no trouble. They were difficult to track, and some were in groups of other people so Kassandra had to wait until nightfall when they were safe in their beds before she dispatched them. 

She came by boat to the last one, the man on the shore telling her that Aristaios resided in the ruined house in the east of the island, near the fort. As Kassandra mounted the hill, she saw him already engaged with a man who looked to be besting him. Then the man slipped, and Aristaios gained a slight advantage and brought his sword down, breaking the man’s parry and giving him a wide cut to his upper arm. Kassandra drew her bow and sent an arrow through Aristaios’ neck. He was aware enough to look to her, then he fell, his feet splayed beneath him. 

The man stood, and Kassandra didn’t move from her position. She hadn’t recognised him while he fought, but now she knew the stoop and the honour-bound air he exuded.

“Pater?” she said quietly, her bow still in her hands.

He turned to her and smiled. “Kassandra?”

“Yes. How are you here?”

“I’m weakening the Athenians, clearing the field for Stentor’s victory.”

Kassandra walked up to him but didn’t touch him. His arm was bleeding and the cut was deep. They both surveyed it but neither moved to stem the flow.

“He’s buckling under the strain,” Kassandra said, removing her helm and placing it in her arms. “You shouldn’t have left him.”

“He’s a fine commander, better than I was. I see you took my helm.”

“You left it. Alexios has your sword.”

“I’m glad.” Nikolaos hesitated, and Kassandra could see countless questions that he’d been pondering in the years since his children revealed themselves to him.

“Spit it out, pater,” Kassandra said.

“I’m not sure where to begin. Is he good with the sword?” Nikolaos asked, finally retrieving a spare rag from his bag to tie around his arm. 

“He’s better with his words. He could convince Perikles to surrender if you got him in a room with him.”

Nikolaos looked at her confused. “Perikles is dead,” he said. “Plague. Kleon is the leader of Athens now.”

Kassandra’s brow knotted. She’d heard enough about Kleon while spying at the symposium to know that he was neither liked, nor stable. She wondered suddenly about his possible cultist links, but discarded it. 

“Then he could convince Kleon. He’s been accepted to the men’s training, I think Brasidas had a hand in it.”

“That’s good. And you?”

“Am I good with a sword?”

Nikolaos smiled at her. “No, how goes you in Sparta?”

Kassandra sighed. “I hardly know.”

This time, it was Kassandra who hesitated. She knew that she had been unfair to her father at their last meeting, and her anger at her parent’s inaction had dulled since Alexios had grown into a man. 

“I know they’re hunting him, still. They caught him after Megaris, tortured him, tried to turn him away from himself.”

“They?”

“The Cult. They’re in Sparta, too. I don’t know who they are.”

“Sparta is an institution with many checks and balances. The Ephors check on the Kings, the Assembly checks on the Ephors, the citizenry checks on the Assembly.”

“You still trust it? After all this?”

Nikolaos considered her through his sad eyes. She couldn’t remember what they looked like before, when they looked at her with joy and hope. When they looked at her to see her as a daughter and not just as a reminder of past sins. 

“I don’t know.”

Kassandra didn’t bother hiding her disappointment. Both of her parents seemed to have blind trust in their city, despite it destroying their lives. 

_Blame where it’s due_.

“The cult works through Sparta. My mother’s cousin may have been a cultist, and any of the Kings or Ephors or Assembly could be too. They could be plotting against your son as we speak.” She paused, letting him see the anger in her eyes. “And yet we speak. Return to Sparta, pater, or don’t. But remember that not all of life is first impressions: sometimes people run deeper.”

Then she turned, grasped the champion’s token, snapped it off his armour, and walked away from her father. 

\--------

Kassandra ran to the Spartan camp, her horse trotting behind her. Like nothing else, running helped her order her thoughts. 

When she arrived, she found Stentor pouring over a map of the region, muttering to some men standing around him. 

“Stentor, the champions are dead.” She dropped their tokens on the table, avoiding the map. She glanced at it and saw scores more Athenian soldiers than Spartan ones. 

“Good,” Stentor said. He then moved around the table to stand in front of her, his hands behind his back and the smallest inkling of the fury that lay beneath.

Kassandra felt blood surge through her head: there was danger here. 

“You’ll not be the winner of this battle. You’re an ant, and I’ll crush you beneath my shoe.”

“I’m bigger than an ant, and harder to crush. Stentor, listen. I saw-”

“I am in command here, not you! You’re a thorn, a nothing, the taint of Taygetos makes you a piss weak excuse for a person and you’ll never be a citizen.”

“I didn’t kill your fucking pater!” she yelled, loud enough for the camp beyond them to hear. 

“No wonder he discarded you on that mountain. Anyone would have!”

“You know nothing of my family! You’re a helot, a mothakes!”

Stentor grasped the kopis that sat on the map table and didn’t correct his stance before thrusting it at her. She dodged easily, and brought her feet under his, tripping him onto his back. She then held him there with her feet and her spear.

“I don’t want to fight you, brother.”

“I am not your brother. Our only bind was pater, and you killed him! Traitor!”

“I’m not a traitor, and I never have been. You can’t betray a city that rejected you. Sparta threw us! Sparta destroyed us!”

“Killing each other won’t heal the wounds of the past.” Nikolaos emerged from the men who had collected to watch. Kassandra let Stentor go, stepping far back so he and Nikolaos could have their moment. She walked to the cliff bordering the camp, and sat down, her arms on her knees. She still wasn’t quite sure how to take Stentor. He was an arse, with arrogant eyes and a furious mouth. But then, so was she. Maybe it would be better if they just didn’t associate with each other outside of having the same father. 

Worse yet, he made Kassandra miss Alexios like crazy. She had received a few letters from him since he’d travelled for Elis, but nothing in a month or two. She needed his calm thought, now more than ever. 

She felt movement behind her and wiped her eyes, hiding the tears that had accumulated there. Then she stood, and came face to face with her father. 

“Pater,” she said. “I told you he was on the edge.”

Nikolaos made a throaty noise that was neither assent or denial. 

“He’s passionate. When he was a child, he used to be so stubborn that the other children refused to partner with him at sparring. I think you two would have suited each other as sparring partners.”

“Well you interrupted too early, then.”

“A shadow moves over Sparta, Kassandra. I can sense it.”

Kassandra nodded. “I agree. Mater is with Alexios there, I don’t know if he’s back from Elis yet.”

“Myrrine? You found her?”

“Ruling Naxos.”

Nikolaos laughed. “Sounds like her. Is she-” he fumbled a little “-is she well?”

Kassandra nodded. “She wants her family safe, even if she doesn’t really know what that looks like. Will you return?”

“I’ll assist Stentor in battle here, then we will return. I’m a deserter, so they may string me up, but then again, maybe not.”

“Once I may have been glad for that to be your fate, but now I feel differently.” 

He nodded at her, and she walked away from him. 

It was as close to a declaration of love as they were going to get. Kassandra mounted her horse and rode south, towards Arkadia and away from troubling thoughts on family, Sparta, and the roles she had to play in both.


	19. Arkadia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassandra goes to Arkadia, where Brasidas waits for her.

The northerly wind was pushing her south, and she made it to Arkadia in record time. She stopped in at taverns and inns sparingly, instead sleeping on the road where she could. The main difference between the trip north to Boeotia, and the trip south to Sparta, was that Kassandra had already dispatched all of the known cultists along the way. Black marks throughout her book dictated which cultists had died by her hand, and there were now more black marks than free pages. 

As she rode into Sparta’s bread basket, she took the scrunched up note from her pocket and read its words again.

_ West wind,_

_I’ll be in and around the Cedar. Head there and I’ll find you._

_B._

His scrawl was refined, with his longer letters looping around his shorter ones. It was the writing of a learned man, not that she’d ever compliment him so. 

She rode to the forest, dismounting near the Statue of Artemis. It reminded her vaguely of the Apollo token that she’d sent to Alexios for his eighteenth birthday, and she cursed herself quietly for having missed his nineteenth as well. Summer was over, but she would make it up to him.

She sat down on a rock and pulled out some dried meat to chew on while Brasidas watched her. She knew he was, and that he’d gloat about it later. 

“You can come out, General,” she yelled. 

“I’m not a General!” she heard behind her. Then she heard a boisterous laugh, and the Spartan left the trees to walk towards her. 

“How did you know?” he said, smiling widely at her.

“That you camped the statue for weeks waiting for me? I have the gift of prophecy, don’t forget.” She grasped his arm in greeting, taking in his longer hair and darker complexion. It had been months since she’d last seen him, glimpsing him training men in the agoge. Not that she watched him, she was watching her brother and his technique and wanted to ensure that Brasidas wasn’t too harshly correcting him. That’s all. 

“Well good news for you, I’ve set up camp just south of here. Will you deign to walk, Agiad?”

Kassandra gave a small breathy laugh. “I used to live in a shack, Spartan. Lead the way.”

As they walked to the camp, Kassandra updated him on the progress in Boeotia, and on her father’s sudden reappearance. She had letters from them both for him, and for the Kings. Brasidas didn’t interrupt her except for clarification of Stentor’s orders. What surprised Kassandra was what he _didn’t_ ask about, namely what her role had been. It struck her that he probably already knew, and may have had a hand in Stentor’s commands. 

“You’ll be happy to know that Sparta won the field,” he said after she’d finished. “I received word just before you arrived. Pity you didn’t stay for it.”

“Why pity?” she replied.

“Because then you could have taken credit for it.”

“I’m not a commander.”

“No, but the only reason we hold Boeotia is because of your work underneath it. The Kings need to hold the kind of work you do with more value than they currently do. It wins wars.”

“Well my step-brother can bask in his own glory, I’d hesitate only a second to take it from him.”

Brasidas shook his head: he wasn’t smiling. “He has a long road ahead of him, longer than even yours. It’ll be up to him and your mother to convince Sparta to spare your father.”

“For desertion?” Kassandra asked quietly. 

Brasidas nodded. “It’s treason, even for a General. Especially for a General.”

Kassandra felt the tension mount within her. She’d not killed her father on purpose, and it would be a shame if someone else killed him instead. She didn’t love him, but he was still her father. 

“How hopeless do you think it is?” she asked, not letting her strain enter her voice. 

He looked at her with a mix of pity and worry. “Not hopeless. They need his mind for the war. He’ll probably be barred from the Gerousia, but Stentor will likely argue that he was over sixty when he deserted, so wasn’t held to the same rules as us younger citizens.”

Kassandra let out the breath that she didn’t know she’d been holding. 

“You were worried about it?” Brasidas asked.

“No,” she said quickly. Then she sighed, looking down at her feet. “Yes.”

“I thought you tried to kill him.”

“I thought about it. But then I didn’t, did I?”

Brasidas sighed, and shook his head. They walked on in silence until the came upon his camp. It was set up sparingly, with a piece of cloth hanging over a branch as a tent and a fire at its centre. Kassandra undressed her horse and left it to feed in the field next to the camp, bringing water up from the creek for it. She then removed her armour, letting the cool breeze move through the exposed material of her chiton and across her sweat ridden skin. She didn’t feel the need to be on high alert with the General nearby, and besides, she’d been wearing her armour for almost a month straight and needed to oil and scrub it. She rubbed her wrist and whistled to Ikaros, hoping he was nearby and could get a letter to her brother. She looked to Brasidas and found him watching her.

“How long have you been here?” she asked, retrieving her spare chiton from her pack.

“A month or so,” he answered. He picked up some freshly cooked meat and offered it to her. She took it hungrily. Dried meat never filled her like the juices in fresh. “I left just after your brother did.”

“It took that long? For them to leave?”

“The Champion Testikles needed his beauty sleep. Not that it mattered in the end, he died on the trip north and your brother had to enter for Sparta.”

“What?!” Kassandra yelped. 

“He didn’t write you?”

“I was hunting Boeotians for weeks before I left, not able to receive letters.” Kassandra’s breath left her nose, the only sign of her anger. “He’s meant to be under the radar, instead he’s offering himself up on a platter.”

“He’s in Elis, under the Olympic treaty. No one would dare spill the blood of an Olympic athlete that also happened to be the Spartan King’s distant cousin.”

“He’s done this on purpose because he thought the job was below him.”

“You think he killed Testikles on purpose?” Brasidas said incredulously.

“No, but he didn’t say no when they asked him to be an athlete.”

“Kassandra, I think you need to calm down. He’ll be ok. Better yet, he’ll probably win.”

Kassandra seethed silently as they ate the meat. She knew better than to continue whinging about her brother’s apathetic attitude towards danger, especially since it made her sound so much like his mother. But he hadn’t been finding and killing cultists the whole way north. He didn’t know how far they spread. 

Then she heard it: the distinct sound of a bow being drawn. She looked up at Brasidas and saw brief recognition in his own eyes before he grasped her shoulder and pushed her to the ground, moving himself with her. The arrow grazed her cheek as it flew past, leaving a shallow but bloody gash. Brasidas was up before her, bearing down on the assailant, spear in hand. Kassandra drew her bow and aimed for the mercenary currently running down the hill, Brasidas close behind him. 

She breathed out as she shot the arrow, letting it fly into the fleeing man’s back and pitching him forward. It wasn’t an immediately fatal shot, _unfortunately, she thought, _and Brasidas soon caught up to him. Kassandra walked to join them.

“Who are you?” Brasidas snarled, pulling the man up by his hair.

“Sosipatros, here for the West Wind’s head,” the man sputtered through blood. Kassandra must have punctured his lung. 

“Who placed the bounty?” she asked coolly.

“Lagos did. A thousand drachmae for your pelt.”

“I’m not an animal to be hunted,” Kassandra said, drawing her spear. “Instead, I hunt.” And she pulled the spear across Sosipatros’ neck, ending his life. She searched through his pockets and found various letters written in various hands. She found the letter from Lagos announcing the bounty.

“Here,” she said, passing the letter to Brasidas without reading it. She leant down to wipe her hands on the grass, trying to cleanse them of blood: she was becoming mildly adverse to it being on her hands. 

“I need to wash,” she said, bringing her hand up lightly to her cheek. It stung where the arrow had slashed her and her instincts told her that it would scar. 

Brasidas nodded to her, and pointed to the creek below his camp, his face looking equal measures devastated and fearful. She paused before leaving, touching him lightly on his forearm.

“People are always hunting me, Brasidas. This is no different.”

He shook his head at her. “It’s Lagos.”

“The holder of the bounty?”

“Yes. He’s the Archon of Arkadia. Why would he place a bounty on you?”

“What reason did the letter give?”

“It’s signed off with ‘To bring Chaos’.” He saw her nostrils flare in recognition. “I don’t think it means what you think it means, Kassandra.”

“And what am I supposed to think it means?”

“He’s not a part of the Cult of Kosmos, and if he was, he would have been forced into it.”

“Brasidas-”

“No, he’s a friend from the agoge. I know him, Kassandra, and I know this isn’t him.”

Kassandra didn’t answer him straight away. She could feel the blood dripping down her face as she considered the man in front of her. She’d thought his ease and calm was in spite of Sparta. She thought he was its antithesis: that the city wasn’t irredeemable because he was in it. 

But she was wrong. He had as much blind loyalty to Sparta and Spartans as her parents. As her step-brother. 

Instead of the deep disappointment that she felt in her heart, she let her face only show her fury. It was becoming her mask, letting her anger be the Kassandra that she showed the world when the one beneath her skin begged for recognition. 

“I’m going to wash,” she said slowly, coldly. “And I want you to build your case for why I shouldn’t go directly for Lagos’ neck while I’m gone.”

Brasidas reached for her, but dropped his hand when her eyes hardened at him. “But the bounty, others will be hunting you,” he said quietly. 

“Then they can form a line.”

\--------

She walked back up the hill, her chiton scrubbed and her spare on her back. She’d not been able to dress the cut on her cheek, but had used the water’s reflection to ensure it wouldn’t make her feverish. The river had calmed her, but with that calm had come calculation. Lagos was definitely a cultist, she’d made up her mind about that. It explained the bounty as well as the comment on the letter. That Brasidas, someone she’d trusted, thought him incapable was telling. 

She couldn’t plan words in her head, so instead she sat down next to the Spartan. He still held the letter in his hands. 

“Is it his hand?” Kassandra asked calmly.

Brasidas nodded, then sighed. “None of this makes sense. This isn’t the Lagos I know, Kassandra.”

“Many men are seemingly incapable of many things,” she said as she reached across him for a piece of bread. She sat back down, using her hands to tear it apart, piece by piece. “What of him makes you think so?”

“He’s gentle,” he whispered, so low that she almost didn’t catch it. Then he breathed out, frustrated, returning his voice to its normal volume. “He hated the agoge and what it did to boys. He hated the trials, hated the youth that was wasted, hated the expectations on children.” He looked first at her hands, slimy with oil as she vented her anger through the food, then up at her face, and her effort to keep it impassive. “Does that sound like a person who would strive for chaos in the Hellas?”

Kassandra kept her face immobile, thinking. _No,_ was her initial instinct. It was everything that Alexios thought too, had considered for the future of Sparta. It was very un-Spartan to think that children shouldn’t be sacrificed to a war machine. The tension that she couldn’t show in her face was transferred to the bread, as she pulled it apart and flung it to the ground. Each pull and each tug was a muscle that she couldn’t move in her face, and she knew that this was obvious to the spy next to her. 

He covered her hands in his to stop her thrashing, and she yelped, giving in to her body’s need to release the tension in one form or another. Brasidas gently hushed her, then started murmuring to her.

“We will investigate it, but please stay your hand until we find out more. He has access to the Spartan army’s grain, and the two may be related. I believe you, I believe you when you say he is in the cult. But please believe me when I say that it might be something else and give us time to find out what.”

“And if a mercenary manages to kill me before then?” Her words mirrored his in quietness and urgency, but instead of looking at him, she looked down at his hands. “Alexios is the West Wind too, is there a bounty on him in Elis?”

He moved his thumb over her hand, and she found the movement calming. “Write to him, tell him, and then we begin.”

She nodded, and he stood, back to the gathering dusk. “I’ll watch while you sleep. Chin up, Spartan.”

“Yes, General.”

He smiled at her lightly, then moved to retrieve his spear from the weapons rack. Kassandra wiped her hands on a rag, and began her letter to her brother.

\--------

They combed Lagos’ safe house, finding evidence of both his involvement with the cult and their poisoning of Spartan grain, and his captive family. Kassandra grimaced, feeling torn. 

“You can’t still be considering killing him?” Brasidas said as they wove their way through brush on the way to rescue the family.

“He agreed to be in the cult in the first place, no one forced him,” she replied. She was annoyed already, the undergrowth in Arkadia having more thorns than she was used to. Painful scratches trailed up her legs. “He just tried to leave, that’s why they’re holding his wife and son.”

“That’s ridiculous. People change.”

“But their motives don’t.”

Brasidas stopped walking, letting her move ahead of him and further up the next rise. “Kassandra, what’s this really about? Lagos was in the cult. He wants out.” Brasidas’ tone was honest disbelief, and Kassandra snapped, partly at his seeming naivety and partly for her own bottled frustrations. 

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she yelled at him. “First it’s the Pythia and a Spartan King that wanted my brother dead. Then it’s just Sparta that agreed. Then it’s an entire conspiracy!” 

It threatened to swallow her whole. The power and expanse of the cult was all that she could think about for years. Every trip, every journey, every task had a cultist attached to it that she could kill. Aside from her brother’s safety, it was all she considered. 

“Then believe me!?” Brasidas yelled back, anger replacing surprise. He moved his arms about him in sharp movements, the same ones that would be deadly if he had a weapon in his hands. 

“How? How, when you defend the cultist that is possibly poisoning your armies! A cultist that was a childhood friend! How likely is it that you remain unblemished by a group that has infiltrated your homeland!”

Their yells echoed in the hills around them, but neither of them cared. She was so angry that she could feel her spear vibrate on her back. She could see the fury in his eyes: whether this was because she had questioned his honour, or whether she had questioned his trust, she couldn’t say.

“I’m not a part of the fucking cult, Kassandra! I can’t believe you’d even suggest it!”

“If the sword fits the sheath, you sheath it!”

He rushed her, poking his finger in her face. “I have more honour in my left hand than that cult has in their entire cohort!”

She batted his hand away like a cat. “Then prove it!” she yelled, her eyes bulging from her head and the sweat whipping from her hair. His face was within her grasp if she needed to punch him to the ground, and she felt glad for it.

“Oh, and how would I prove it to someone who doesn’t fucking trust me?!” 

She shoved him then, pushing his shoulders back. He grabbed her forearms and held her tight, bringing his face close to hers. His tone was low, but he spoke with deadly precision. “I am not a cultist, Kassandra. And if I wanted your brother dead, I would have done it in Sparta when I was surrounded by weapons and he was deep in thought. But instead I’m here, with you, leading you to my friend with the full knowledge that it may end in his death. Where does my loyalty lie?”

“Brasid-.”

“No!” he said forcefully, shaking her slightly. “Where - does - my - loyalty - lie!”

She was quiet for a moment, letting her face slacken in light of his. They were both breathing hard, their argument taking the breath from their bodies. 

“Here,” she said quietly. “With me.”

He searched her face and watched her tears trickle down it.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Here. With you.”

She could taste the salt of her own tears when their lips met, but it was quickly washed away by the taste of him. He was metallic, with an underlying sweetness that could only come from the berries that they’d shared earlier. He engulfed her in his arms, moving his hands into her hair and around her waist, and she did the same. She was searching for any bare skin to run her hands over, but his unyielding armour prevented her purchase. 

He broke apart, and it took her strength to not draw him directly back to her. He rested his forehead against hers, holding her lightly. 

“With you,” he whispered, out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head.

“No, I should never have let you doubt me.”

A far away yell broke them from each other’s spell, and Kassandra knew that it came from the direction of the family’s prison. 

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s save Lagos’ family.”

\--------

“West Wind,” Lagos said calmly, not turning when his door slammed open and she’d walked in.

She’d found him in a room within the Fort, sparsely furnished and not at all what could be considered comfortable. Kassandra turned her mind to what Lagos’ wife had said: that he’d been threatened and beaten by the cult, and was being held prisoner by them. The lack of lodgings half confirmed it. 

“Archon,” Kassandra replied, sheathing her spear. She’d only taken out three of the most inconvenient guards, and no one had seen her do it. But still, their blood covered her weapon and her hands. She advanced on the man and stood just behind him. “You put a bounty on me.”

“I did,” he replied, measured and cool. “And I’m sorry for it. The cult.”

“Yes, the cult,” Kassandra repeated in her best deadpan tone. She wouldn’t be so easily convinced of his innocence as Brasidas was, so she probed using the information he had given her about his childhood friend. “Stoking the flames of conflict so that the people of Hellas suffer.”

It seemed to work, as his face dropped and pain entered his eyes. Perhaps reminding him of his obligations to his people could be his way out.

“I never wanted this,” he said. “I never wanted my family hurt. Have you heard from them?”

“Brasidas saved them, and he’s hidden them.” Kassandra drew herself up to her full height and let her arms cross in front of her chest. “I’ll tell you their location if you renounce the cult to my satisfaction.”

“You’ll let me live?”

“I promised him that I would try.”

Lagos nodded and turned to the table behind him. He muttered as he sifted through papers. “I never wanted it to go this far, but they assured me that Arkadia wouldn’t suffer if I worked with them. I don’t want the people to suffer.”

“All very noble,” Kassandra said patronisingly. She watched him find a few leaflets and collect them together.

“There’s something else, West Wind,” he said as he turned to her. He passed her the papers and she saw many different scrawls, but the top paper held an Agiad royal seal. “Your brother, he’s still their target.”

“I am aware,” Kassandra said coldly. She could feel the blood drain from her body as her mind raced to the only conclusion.

“Is he back in Sparta yet?” Lagos asked.

“I believe so.”

“Then their plans are in motion, and you must return.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The King, he seeks your brother’s head, as his father did before him.”

“Why? Which King?”

Kassandra knew before she’d asked, but the words escaped her mouth without her being able to stop them. She was swimming through a river, the tide taking her out to sea. Spartan Kings wanted her brother dead, and had used the cult to further their political ends. 

“Your cousin. Alexios is as incorruptible an heir as Sparta could produce, and that would interfere with the cult’s plans for Hellas. His father planned your brother’s demise before he was even born. It would have been yours, but you were born a girl. As long as your mother had girls, your family was safe. But she had Alexios instead.”

“He doesn’t want the throne,” Kassandra said quietly. 

Lagos spoke to her like a tutor explaining a difficult concept for the first time. “It doesn’t matter what he wants. He is the heir, and the only heir. Once your cousin is exposed for his corruption and expelled, he will be King.”

Kassandra found herself breathless, with anger replacing the numbness. “They’ve been grooming him this whole time. Mater, Brasidas, the agoge. They’ve been grooming him to be king.”

“And he will make a good King, by all accounts. But first, he must survive your cousin. Here,” Lagos indicated the papers that he’d given Kassandra. “Here is proof that Pausanias is a cultist. Ride fast, West Wind. I fear Sparta will soon be outside the grasp of its people.”

Kassandra ran to where Brasidas was camping with their horses. The papers were safely stowed in her pack, and she would ask Brasidas to confirm them once they were on the road. 

She couldn’t believe that she’d been so stupid. So naive. She’d been as bad as her parents had been: essentially waiting until another blade came for her brother. But this time, it wasn’t the cult’s blade directly that sought to cut him, it was Spartan politics. She should never have left Kephallonia. She should have kept him safe, in that quiet backwater, away from Sparta and away from its King. 

She came upon Brasidas sleeping, and she had to breathe for ten seconds before waking him. She didn’t want to frighten him with her own fear, and knew better than to wake a trained warrior with such tension in the air.

“General,” she said as she shook him awake.

“I told you, I’m not a-” he said sleepily.

“I don’t care, Brasidas,” she said quickly. “We need to ride for Sparta. Alexios is in danger.”

His eyes opened and he sat up quickly. “What do you mean?”

“Pausanias. Pausanias is a cultist and wants him dead.”

“Lagos told you this?”

“Yes. Please,” she pleaded. “We need to ride now.”

Brasidas packed up his things and she saddled the horses. It took them only a half hour to leave no trace, and they both rode at full speed into the southern mountains, Ikaros flying ahead of them.


	20. The Olympic Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexios wins the wreath for Sparta.

“Nike!” the woman called, and Alexios looked up as he walked along the wooden beam, displaying himself to the jubilant crowd. He barely heard her for the din, yells and cheering filling his ears. She held a bouquet of flowers, yellow, his favourite, in an arched and graceful wrist. She smiled at him, and threw them down as her breath caught in a laugh. He unbalanced slightly to catch them, sending his leg out behind him to manage the lunge. He then brought them to his nose and breathed them in, not taking his eyes off the woman above him. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of a blush, but instead captured her lips between her teeth and returned his stare. Then she turned, and made her way back through the crowd and away from him. 

He jumped from the beam then, to the roar of the crowd who’d just crowned him the Olympic Champion. His new laurels rested on his head, gold reflecting the sun as if Helios himself followed Alexios around the arena. His victory was unexpected and only semi-explainable. The months that had brought him here seemed far away as the crowd engulfed him in their furore. He didn’t know where to look or where to walk, but he kept his head high as the achievement seeped beneath his skin. 

He’d won the Olympics for Sparta, and he and his sister could make Sparta their home at last.

Then he stopped, letting his smile falter slightly.

_Kassandra is going to be furious about this._

He let his smile fall only a little as he was further swamped with flowers and fruit. He’d just blame Barnabas, or Alkibiades. 

He walked from the arena glowing. Nothing could get better than this. 

But he was wrong. Things could definitely get better.

\--------

“And then you aimed for his liver, brilliant move! For the Gods!”

“I know, Barnabas,” Alexios laughed. “I was there.”

“Ahh, but you didn’t see it like we did! He never saw it coming. Then you pitched your arm around his neck and …”

Alexios turned to Herodotus and raised his eyebrows. Herodotus laughed warmly. He’d gotten used to the captain’s antics, and Alexios wasn’t sure that it was simply adventure that kept the scholar around. 

Alexios stood up as Barnabas impersonated his final blow to his opponent’s head. “I’m going out to get some water, Gods know you both could use some after all that wine.”

He didn’t think they’d heard him as he closed the door behind him, their laughing shut off by the turned latch. The moon was shining bright, lighting his way, and he took care not to crush any of the gifted flowers underfoot as he made his way to the well. 

“Nike!” a woman’s voice rang out, startling him. Cocks were about to crow and the sun was about to send its light towards Hellas. He hadn’t thought anyone would be about.

She sat on the wall of the well, letting her long legs cross at the ankles. Her white clothing pooled around her legs, revealing her toned and olive skin up to her thighs. Bangles moved loosely on her hands and her hair was bundled about her shoulders, creating a shroud of darkness around her face. 

Alexios stopped moving at the voice, looking first to her legs, then upwards towards her face. He wasn’t as immune to the wine as he’d hoped, and he found his tongue heavy in his mouth. 

“It’s Alexios,” he said, continuing his slow walk to the well. 

“Alexios of Sparta,” she repeated, looking at him through easy set eyes. Something about it made him wonder at his own power and how easily she might turn and decide he was a meal instead of a man. 

He didn’t correct her. He wasn’t really Alexios of _anywhere_, but he was representing Sparta, so if the knife sheaths. 

“What’s your name?” he asked in a tone he hoped sounded genuine rather than naive.

Her laugh sounded like bells as it rang around the courtyard. He felt like he should say something witty about her laugh, but instead he decided to let the wine do his talking for him. He was a champion, after all. 

“Thetis,” she replied, moving towards him languidly. He had to concentrate on the distinctness of her face, on the movement of her throat as she breathed, because to look anywhere else would betray his want. 

Once she was directly in front of him, he breathed in her scent of rose petals and tannins. “That’s not your real name,” he whispered. 

“No,” she said back, moving her hands into his hair and around the beads that sat there. “But it’s what you’ll call me.”

\--------

The sun rose over Elis and the sky was clear of cloud. Alexios knew this because a beam of light shone directly into his eyes as Helios announced himself. He could barely see and his head was ringing with pain, the thumping landing directly between his eyes. And his wrists were sore. 

That was weird. The wine and festivities explained his head, but his wrists?

Then he pulled on them and pain exploded up his arms, sparking through them. His hands were bound to the bed he’d woken up in, bloody and raw. He grimaced in confusion, not remembering anything past the well. 

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He remembered that she tasted of apple seeds and thrown caution, and he indulged himself in it as she lead him to a house close to the agora. She called him Nike, _victory_, as she placed his hands about her and threw her head back in response. 

He couldn’t remember anything after they’d entered the house. 

_Kassandra is going to be more than furious when she finds out._

_**If** she finds out._

Alexios relaxed his hands and called out, lending his voice a begging quality that he knew made him seem weak. But he didn’t have to feign the roughness that came out of his mouth.

“Water!”

A creak in the floor beyond the door and the sound of liquid entering clay focused him, and he tested the strength of his binds. He was drunk when they’d bound him, and they may have been drunk too by how easily he could slip the knots. He waited, biding his time until he could extract what they hell these people wanted with him. 

The woman from the night before entered holding a clay cup and a wooden plate.

“Alexios,” she said, and he felt the absence of the sing-song quality that it had held before. 

“Why am I bound?” he asked roughly.

_Don’t say it,_ his mind pleaded. 

“Kosmos wills it,” she said simply, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Kallias will be here shortly, and I’ll be rewarded for your glorious head.”

“Which one?” he asked, emboldened by her candor. 

She smirked at him, and lightly touched the stubble lining his chin. “Kallias is only interested in the one that carries your mind, unfortunately. Though I don’t think he’s particularly adverse to the other.” She threw a cherry into her mouth and chewed noisily. 

“Let me go. The Spartan entourage will miss me, and it would only insult my cousin for my head to be taken so easily.”

The woman shook her head. “It is only early, and your shipmates lie in on spoilt wine.” A smile lit her face, the same smile he’d noticed at the arena when she’d gifted him flowers. “Two West Winds, and I caught the younger. Though, I hear that your sister will meet her match in Arkadia.”

Alexios stilled, no longer bold. “What do you mean?”

“Kosmos has called for her head, too. You’re both too much trouble.”

“She will be your end,” he said defiantly, angry pressure building in his chest. 

“Perhaps, but at least I will go down as yours.”

He grasped for her arms and covered her mouth with a bloody hand. 

“You should have been more careful with the ties,” he whispered. He saw her face journey from when he first lunged: fright, anger, acceptance, then laughter. She was laughing at him. 

Then he heard it: the heavy footsteps of a man coming towards the room, and he suddenly knew why she was laughing. Because it was too late for him to escape. 

He had no weapons, no armour. He wasn’t even wearing sandals. He let her go, no longer able to use the surprise her silence bought, and her screams shook the room. 

His head’s pain hadn’t improved, and the screaming made him momentarily forget what the fuck he was meant to be doing. The door opened with incredible speed, and a huge man with a grey beard stood at its centre. Alexios remembered him from the judging, and groaned before he launched himself at him. 

He used his agility to beat Kallias to the ground before rounding on him with one of the scraps of leather that had bound him to the bed. Kallias choked and spluttered the whole way down, and Alexios had to mentally remove himself from the room to complete the task. 

Once Kallias was lax in his hands, he turned to the woman. She had stayed to watch the death of her master, and was staring at Alexios in shock. 

He didn’t want to kill like this. It wasn’t him. He couldn’t bear to kill when he was directly in danger, let alone when only potential danger sat before him. He wasn’t Spartan: the agoge would have beaten this out of him. And he wasn’t Kassandra. 

But she took the decision from him with a dagger to her own throat. She coughed just as Kallias had, sending herself to Hades via the choking breath of someone drowning. 

Two people lay around him, with both of their blood on his hands. He had to wash, had to leave the room, the region.

He had to get back to the safety of his sister. 

\-------- 

The sea journey south was uneventful, but Alexios kept mainly to the cabin. He knew that Barnabas knew: how could he not? Alexios had run back to him, covered in blood that wasn’t his own, and begged for an immediate departure. The Captain hadn’t questioned and probably wouldn’t. He’d seen enough of the siblings to know that they would eventually let him know in their own way. 

Alexios just wanted to go home, and by that he meant to cry in his sister’s arms. She would justify it to him, make him feel like he didn’t fail, ensure him that his acts were all that he could have done. Then she’ll sing to him, stroke his hair, and remind him of his best traits. 

Wouldn’t she?

He’d not seen her in two seasons. His hair had outgrown the last of her braids as it sprang from his shoulders, and he’d collected the beads so she could place them back in her usual ritual. He’d not heard from her in weeks, either. She’d warned him that she would have to go dark as she hunted Boeotians, but he’d expected at least some letters. 

He’d kept the Testikles business from her, and the Championship from her. He hadn’t written while on the Adrestia, either, and he’d be a liar if he said that the guilt of that didn’t prickle him. 

He’d murdered a man in cold blood, even though he was in danger, and he’d let a woman take her own life right in front of him. And to add to the injury, Kassandra had been right about Kosmos. They were both prolific and dangerous. 

Even after Elpenor, Alexios had thought it a minor threat, something that his sister had latched onto and one that was aiding her descent into her own brutality. She murdered and destroyed households in pursuit of the cult, and she’d done it to keep him safe. 

It was his fault, all of it. The cult’s acts against him, his sister’s frenzy after them, the danger his mater and pater and step-brother fell into. And he’d made it worse by heightening his profile. The West Wind was already famous and sought after, and now one of the two was an Olympic champion. 

Alexios shook his head roughly. He had to take Kassandra’s quest more seriously: he had to take the cult more seriously. 

They sailed their way into Gytheion Bay with Alexios on deck, sunning his skin.

“So the dead walk?” Barnabas called, and Alexios grimaced at him. The old man ignored it. “And good thing too, looks like a crowd is meeting us at the dock!”

Alexios’ eyes followed Barnabas’ finger to the gathering of people near the wharf and groaned. 

“What did you expect?” Barnabas said. “To go quietly home? You’re a champion!”

“Is Kassandra among them?” he asked, eyes straining against the sun.

“I doubt it. She’d probably still in Arkadia.”

Alexios let his shoulders slump, but then began to mentally prepare himself for the onslaught he was about to encounter. 

_You’re a champion._

You killed a man.

_You’re the champion of Sparta._

You were stupid and careless.

_You have won yours and your sister’s citizenship back._

She’ll be disappointed that you didn’t notice the cult earlier.

_The Kings will greet you like a hero._

Even though you’re not. 

Alexios visibly shuddered, and Barnabas clapped him on the back.

“It won’t be so bad. People already like you, now the Kings have a reason to as well.”

“Thanks, Barnabas.”

As they docked, Alexios was swept up into the crowd and onto a cart laden with flowers. It was a darker wood, ornately carved, surrounding him with images of other athletes. It lunged forward, and children ran alongside it as it made its way to the city. Alexios smiled easily, his dark internal monologue replaced by the overwhelming love of his people.

Because they were his people. And he was theirs. Everything he’d felt he’d missed while growing up on Kephallonia was washed away by the tide of joy surrounding him. He felt like he was a part of something bigger than his own little family: he was a part of a city, a part of a culture, a part of a tradition. 

The horses huffed as they took him up through the city, and flowers rained down on him. He raised his hands to everyone who came out to see him, but accepted no bouquets from the pretty girls lining the streets. 

He didn’t need to prepare his mind for this: this was what he was born for. 

The cart reached the thrones, and the Kings welcomed him. Archidamos with his arms wide and his smile wider, and Pausanias with a pretty speech about the prowess of Spartan sons. 

If he’d been making it for anyone else, Alexios may have dismissed it. But it brought him back to his unvoiced worries, his unspoken tension. He, very specifically, _wasn’t_ a Spartan son. He was Agiad; he was the son of a General and the son of a princess; but everyone listening knew that he was thrown from Taygetos as Sparta’s prophesied doom. 

He wasn’t Spartan. He was a nobody.

Alexios bowed all the same, replying with the usual exaltations of Sparta and its traditions and culture. He only lightly, ever so lightly, reminded the Kings that he was not a product of such traditions, but of the mercy and kindness of a sister who didn’t wish him pain, even if it meant that he cried when he killed. 

“Take a tour around the city, Alexios, Olympic Champion, so the people can see you!” Pausanias called with a wave of his hand. 

Alexios took the reins of the horses from the helot who was directing them, and pushed the horses towards the temple. He went slowly, always concerned for the people who might be caught under his wheel spokes.

He was rounding the agora when there was a snap, the breaking of wood. Then a jolt, and the cart stumbled under its own weight, flying sideways onto a group of helots and crushing them under the depictions of Spartan pride. Alexios was thrown forward, hitting his shoulder on a gutter and causing a sharp course of pain to erupt through him. Through the pain he heard cries of terror and agony.

Alexios picked himself up and stumbled his way over to the cart. It was in disarray: the ornately carved wood broken and the wheel’s shaft torn in two. Then he saw them: three child helots being pressed into the sunbaked ground.

“Hold on!” Alexios yelled, calling on sides for Spartiates in uniform to assist him. They went to him without hesitation, and the crowd that had been cheering was now hushed, waiting to see what their champion would do next. 

“You, hold there, no _there_, or you’ll snap it further. You, to the back and pivot it with your back, mind your reach. You, help me here. Ok? Ok. LIFT!” They all roared as they extracted the cart high enough for the rest of the Spartiates to pull the helots from the ground. They were groaning in pain, but there was little blood under the cart.

He called for the men to drop the cart, and for one to examine the wheel and report back to him as to what caused the break. His worries and concerns about being Spartan were dropped as the cart lurched, with cool and precise control replacing the tense agitation that had accompanied him since Elis.

He turned to the children and tried to assess the damage to them. One, a small boy, had what looked to be a broken leg, his bones crunching and him howling in pain. Alexios went to him first, as the crowd continued to gather and watch. 

“Shhh, shh,” Alexios said. “Where is your mother?”

The boy cried in answer, and Alexios rubbed his back. The other helots were older, looking to be not quite out of the throws of puberty. One was sniffling as he clutched his side and the other was stoically examining her broken arm. 

“Are you family?” Alexios asked gently. The girl shook her head.

“We’re neighbours. His mother is working the field, gave us the morning to see you.”

“Your arm is broken,” he said, pointing between the two older helots. “And you might have some broken ribs. Can you both walk?”

The girl and older boy nodded as the younger boy continued to howl. 

“Then let me take you home.” Alexios turned from the children - even if Sparta didn’t consider them children, making them work for their subsistence - and called for one of the Spartiate’s horses, promising to return it that afternoon. 

“No need, Agiad,” the Spartiate said, saluting Alexios. 

Alexios didn’t probe, but knew that a change had occurred after the cart had gone down. The crowd that was revelling in his success now considered him in deferential delight. No one questioned his care for the helots, even though they were beneath him. No one wondered why the Champion of Sparta deigned to consider the people that had ended up on the ground, rather than worry about the destruction of his new and expensive cart. 

Or maybe the change had occurred when he’d won the Olympics, gaining Sparta a solitary glory in a sea of military defeat. He’d stepped into the role, basked in it, been destroyed by what it required of him. He could still feel the spurting blood of the woman warm on his hands. He wasn’t built for killing, he wasn’t built for death. 

Or maybe the change had occurred when he’d walked into the city’s limits, a ghost condemned but alive and more than that. 

Alexios loaded the children onto the horse, the one with the broken leg being cradled at the front by the boy with the broken ribs, and he walked them through the hushed crowd and towards their home.

\--------

“What were you thinking?” Myrrine said to him later, after the children were comfortably home, and their parents were reassured by Alexios’ offer. “You can’t support every lame helot in Sparta.”

“Mater,” Alexios warned. “I only said that they wouldn’t be left hungry or out in the cold, if their master tried it. And it was my cart, so it’s my responsibility.”

“Alexios, it’s dangerous for you to distinguish yourself like this. It will lead to trouble.”

“It’s already lead to trouble,” he muttered. 

“What do you mean?”

“The Spartiates that helped me with the cart. They called me Agiad.”

Myrrine drew a sharp intake of breath. “They what?” she whispered.

“They called me Agiad. Then one gave me his horse.”

A loud knock on the door of the house made his mother jump, and he stood to answer it, ignoring her fearful eyes. 

The spartiate that he’d tasked with explaining the broken cart stood in front of him. 

“Oh, hello,” Alexios said. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Pyrrhos, Agiad.” The man stammered. “I’ve come to report about the cause of your broken cart.”

“Yes, please just call me Alexios. What was the cause?”

The man looked past Alexios into the din of the house, glancing only lightly at his mother. He could feel her eyes trying to make Pyrrhos burst into flames.

“The cart was sabotaged, sir. The axle was made of green wood: I’m surprised it took until Sparta to break.”

“Sabotaged?” Myrrine whispered, standing. “Who else have you told of this, boy?” 

Pyrrhos looked terrified. Perhaps he had greater knowledge of what this meant than he made out.

“Only yourselves, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with it.”

“Thank you, Pyrrhos. Return to the Barracks and tell no one else.”

“Yes, Agiad.”

“Alexios,” he corrected, and Pyrrhos just nodded nervously and left them to their house. 

“When is Kassandra due back?” he asked Myrrine. His hands were shaking, and he forced them to still across his chest. 

“I’m not sure, lamb. But your father and step-brother will be here any day from Boeotia. I received a letter from Nikolaos two days ago.”

“Pater? Does that mean we’ll have to move?”

“No, Alexios. But it means you’ll be safer. We, your pater and I, we won’t make the same mistake again. I’d rather die.”

He brought his forehead to hers, galvanised by her words. 

“I don’t want to act until Kassandra returns,” he said to her quietly. “She always thought a King was a cultist. The cart was a gift from Sparta. One of the Kings had a hand in this.”

Myrrine nodded. “But which one?”


	21. Messenia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plots are revealed.

“Pausanias.”

Kassandra had arrived in the week after the cart overturned, flying from Arkadia with Brasidas in tow. Her mouth was full of the bread that Myrrine had given them: supplies for their break from the city. It had been quick and sharp, with Kassandra barely alighting her horse to escort Alexios to Messenia on the ruse of a hunting trip. Brasidas had come along, and Stentor had volunteered too.

Nikolaos and Stentor had returned days before Kassandra, and Alexios had found himself warming to his father as he never had his mother. His mannerisms were more familiar, and he didn’t have the steel that belied Myrrine. Aside from that, some of the joy had returned to his eyes since he’d last seen him in Megaris. Alexios had greeted Stentor like a brother, and the General had deigned to grasp his hand. 

“I saw Kassandra,” Nikolaos had told him after one of their dinners. They were sitting outside, enjoying the balmy air and watered wine. “In Boeotia. You’ve both changed since Megaris, but how much I can not say.”

“She chases the ones who sought my death. It has changed her, but not irrevocably,” Alexios had said, instinct to defend his sister overtaking him. 

“I hope you’re right, for her sake,” his father replied with the ghost of a smile. “I hope she can see that not all of us are seeking your downfall.”

“Pausanias is the cultist King,” she said, bringing Alexios back to the conversation. “Kosmos doesn’t want you to be King because you’re incorruptible.”

“That makes both of us,” Alexios murmured, pulling grass up from the ground. 

The four of them were sitting around a campfire in the western mountains of Taygetos, the sun having set hours prior. Stentor looked defeated despite military victory, and Brasidas had a keenly set face, like the clockwork within his skull had ground to a halt. Nikolaos and Myrrine had remained in Sparta after Stentor had successfully argued for his father’s reduction in status. Nikolaos was no longer a General, and would never be a Gerousia, but he could keep his life. And with it, he returned to his wife and the life he’d abandoned.

Alexios rubbed his scarred wrists, the binds that had held him in Elis leaving webs of scars. Kassandra hadn’t asked, but he knew that she was waiting for the fear that fed their flight to abate.

“Would you prefer death?” Kassandra said, exacerbated. She gestured to Brasidas to say _something_ but he maintained his deep thought. She then looked to Stentor to spout something about the incorruptibility of Sparta and Spartan sons, but again, came up empty.

Alexios sighed. “They’re already calling me Agiad: the Spartiates, I mean. It’s probably too late.”

“You’ll make a fine King, Alexios,” Brasidas said. “And we must address the corruption in Sparta one way or another, and all routes lead to Pausanias’ deposition.”

“And how long have you been training me for exactly that?” Alexios asked, anger entering his voice for the first time since they left Sparta. “How long have you been quietly preparing your men for their new King?”

Brasidas laughed humorlessly. Alexios kept his eyes on him and watched him attempt to delay his answer first with a look to Kassandra’s hard eyes, then a glance at the loyalist General. Sensing defeat, Brasidas stared at his hands. 

“Since Korinthia. Since you found your way to your mother, I knew where this was headed.”

Kassandra’s hand had been lingering along Brasidas’ thigh, but at his words she straightened away from him. He sensed it and Alexios saw his sadness as he looked at her. 

“I won’t apologise for wanting what was best for my city,” Brasidas said quietly. 

“Why don’t you want to be King?” Stentor asked, his mouth still disbelieving the treacherous thoughts leaving it. But, then, if Pausanias was corrupt, then he wasn’t Sparta’s King at all.

“Honestly? Because I don’t feel like I belong here.”

Stentor laughed. “You’re right,” he said. “You don’t belong in Sparta. You can’t be in battle without losing your stomach, and you can’t kill without it consuming you.”

“Stentor,” Kassandra warned, her voice filling the clearing. 

“What? The man, no, the _boy_, has just said he’s not fit. Sparta is a war machine, and he’s only spent a season in the agoge.” Stentor’s voice was rising, and Kassandra fought to not rise with it.

“If it’s his blood you have trouble with, then spit it out. Jealousy won’t help us plan this out.”

“If you call me a mothak-”

“Enough,” Alexios called, letting his tenor spread through them. To his surprise, they listened.

“How old are you, anyway?” Stentor asked after a brief pause.

“Nineteen,” Alexios replied. 

“Nineteen. Our King will still need milk clothes. Will you provide them, sister? Or perhaps you, spy?”

“Stentor, I know you outrank me, so please forgive me when I tell you to have faith,” Brasidas said. His hands were splayed along his crossed legs as if he might need them quickly and wanted them ready. Alexios hadn’t yet asked Kassandra about the cut on her face, but he guessed that Brasidas’ readiness had something to do with it. “You’ve not worked with him on strategy or logistics. He’s talented, even more so than your father. But if we can’t depose the Cultist King without bloodshed, not only is all of this for naught, but our lives may as well be forfeit too.”

They all sat quietly after this pronouncement, thinking of the consequences of what they discussed.

“The ephors,” Kassandra said suddenly. “They don’t stay in power long enough to be worth anything to the cult. We go to the ephors, but without the play of placing Alexios as King. They will come to that conclusion themselves. The people love him, he’s famous, he’s royalty, he’s a fierce fighter and a talented tactician. ” Kassandra took her brother’s hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry, little brother, but the best Kings are the ones who don’t want to be on the throne. I tried to protect you from what Sparta wanted from you, but it seems the city had other plans.”

Brasidas nodded at her, then stifled a yawn. “We must be ready for tomorrow. Everyone get some sleep, I’ll stay up for a bit.”

Kassandra stood with Alexios and gave him a bone crushing hug. 

“I love you and I’m proud of you,” she whispered into his ear. 

“Thank you, sister,” he whispered back. “Is there really no other way?”

“No, there’s not. Not without destabilising Sparta during a difficult conflict. But your family is here with you. I’m here with you, and I’ll be with you when you ascend.”

Alexios went to bed, but didn’t sleep.

\--------

“I know you’re mad at me.”

Kassandra didn’t look at him, just examined her spear under the firelight. She’d sat opposite him once her brothers had gone to bed, planning on challenging his assertions. “That’s an understatement, Brasidas.”

“This was inevitable, Kassandra. The boy is the only option.”

Kassandra left him in silence as the words hung between them. She was furious, angrier than she had been when he’d asked for grace for Lagos. At least then, the threat was external to Alexios. At least then, she could somewhat control the outcome. 

Now, she felt no control. Just tension, and anger. 

“What I don’t understand, General,” she said, hearing him tut slightly at the endearment being used so acidly, “is why you were grooming him before Pausanias’ cultist ties even became apparent.”

Brasidas sighed. She still couldn’t bring herself to look at him, but knew that the corners of his eyes were pointing down by the way he was breathing. Sleeping next to him and feeling the weight of his hands on her body for the last months had enabled her study of his functions. He sighed only when he was resigned, or when he was cornered.

_No,_ a voice countered, compassion breaking through the tension in her chest. _He sighs when he’s sad._

“I wasn’t. Not really. He received the training that any royal son receives. It’s important to keep trained sons in reserve in case Kings die and are difficult to replace. Heirs have to be gained from somewhere.”

She didn’t reply straight away, mulling it over. If she was being honest, even she knew that this was coming. Had she not been training him herself as a Spartan, giving him forward motion in his ideas of state, in his management of people, in his tactics of gaining information? Had she not been testing him, quizzing him, pushing him, since he could stand?

But no, she had only wanted him to survive. She had given no thought as to what that life may look like. And now they were here, their rudderless ventures turning them towards Sparta’s throne. 

Kassandra looked up at Brasidas for the first time in the hour since she’d announced their plan, and found him staring at her lap, where the spear lay. She had been fingering the grip lightly, where her hands had lain since she was just a child. She picked it up by the shaft and pointed it towards him. Flinching only ever so slightly, his eyes turned to her face.

“You’re calculating how likely I am to lunge at you, aren’t you, General?” 

He smirked at her with a small laugh. “Your hand would be the only one that I’d be glad to die by, because that would mean that I likely deserved death.”

“Take it,” she said defiantly.

“What?”

“Take it, and it may show us whether we’re doing the right thing.”

Brasidas placed his fingers on top of hers, making contact with the spear.

The world remained dark, but they were viewing the throne room of Sparta with little more firelight than they’d had with them at the camp.

A richly dressed woman paced the room, her red cloak billowing behind her. Her hair was greyed and Kassandra saw her mother’s eyes staring out of the woman’s face. 

“Gorgo!” a voice called, accompanied by the echoing footsteps of armed men. The voice belonged to a middle aged man dressed in the finery of the court, rather than the armour of the battlefield. His voice sounded like silver, seeping through the cracks of the thrones before him. Kassandra shuddered, and felt Brasidas’ hand squeeze hers.

“Pleistoanax,” Gorgo said with a deathly quiet, looking between the man who had spoken, and the Spartiates surrounding him. “You should know better.”

“The throne room is not yours, nor your son’s, anymore,” he said. “Such a shame.”

“A convenient shame,” Gorgo said cooly. Kassandra had heard the same tone come from her own mouth, and knew that her grandmother was fighting to maintain her temper. She felt Brasidas squeeze her hand almost numb.

“Very convenient. Though, I’m sure, since your husband’s demise at Thermopylae, you’ve grown used to mourning family. What, first your husband, then your son, and now your grandchildren? And Myrrine is missing, bringing shame to her family. But that’s not what you meant, is it?” Pleistoanax folded his hands in front of his lap, waiting for the rock of Sparta to crack.

“Your father liked power, liked the feel of it,” she said in measured tones. “I see you’ve inherited.”

“I am Agiad too.”

“And yet the line ends with my children, one in Hades and one on the run.” Gorgo sighed, the first sign of emotion since Pleistoanax had entered the room. “Did you have to throw Kassandra, too? She was of little threat to you.”

“Nikolaos threw her, not us. In fact, we intended on keeping her for Pausanias as a bride. No matter, no doubt another Agiad will come out of the woodwork.”

Gorgo didn’t answer, and Kassandra heard her breath catch. “Small favours,” she said. “I doubt your son could have handled her.”

Pleistoanax’s eyes turned murderous at the slight, and he flexed his hands at his side. “Your children or grandchildren will never have the throne. The world will beg for our control.”

Gorgo walked towards her son’s successor, her brown eyes matching his grey ones with an unbreaking stare.

“Sparta will beg for death before submitting.”

Then she walked around him, and left the throne room.

The spear released Kassandra and Brasidas slowly, easing them back into their present as if asking them to speak one question at a time. 

Kassandra found herself unable to remove her hand from the spy’s. 

“My uncle,” she started quietly. “My mother’s brother didn’t have children.”

“No,” Brasidas confirmed. “His wife was barren, though he ruled for twenty years in his own right.”

“Tell me about Pleistoanax.”

“He succeeded your uncle. He was the grandson of Cleombrotus, your grandfather’s younger brother. He ruled only for five years before being exposed as accepting bribes from Perikles.”

“Then Pausanias is his son?”

“Yes. But my question is what of the connection between Pleistoanax, and your uncle and brother’s demise? It’s one hell of a coincidence.”

“No one questioned it at the time?”

“Not that I remember, but I was confined to the agoge. I was a child.”

“So was I, and it was happening in my own house.”

“Kassandra, this explains everything.”

Kassandra didn’t answer right away. The pieces had slotted together while they were still beholden to the vision, with generations of Agiads vying for power in Sparta. Her cousin likely planned the deaths of her uncle and her brother, perhaps using the cult as a power base to do it. If this was what royalty was going to be like for the rest of her days, then she’d prefer her shack on Kephallonia.

“Did the Cult or the politics come first?” she asked, finally. “Did Pleistoanax seek the throne as a cultist, or as an heir apparent?”

“What difference does it make?”

“If the former, Sparta may already be too corrupt to save. If the latter, then returning the line to us may destroy the last of the cult in the city.”

Brasidas considered her carefully. “Let’s plan for the former, and hope for the latter, then.”

He slowly stood and scooped her up in his arms, pressing her to him to stem her shivering. It wasn’t a cold night, and the wind had died down, but the shudders coming from her chest felt as if they were moving the earth itself. He carried her to their shared tent, and whispered soothingly to her until she fell asleep, nightmares of kin wielding knives awaiting her.

\--------

“This is ridiculous!” Pausanias screamed. “I demand to see your proof!”

“We aren’t required to provide it,” the ephor said, hands behind his back and a stern brow upon his face. 

“I am your King. Who lays the charges?!” 

“Brasidas of Sparta, and Kassandra of Sparta.”

“There!” he screamed, unable to control himself. “There you have it! She, not yet a citizen, and he, agitated at his lack of laurel!”

Kassandra and Brasidas stood quietly at the back of the throne room, both refusing to rise to the bait. They’d approached the ephors at daybreak, leaving Stentor and Alexios in Messenia, in safety. They’d not told anyone where they were going or what they were doing: they rode directly to the magistrates. 

“Pausanias, is this not your seal? Is this not your hand? Is this not the promise of victory for you should you betray your partner King?”

Pausanias didn’t answer, but opened and shut his mouth in the hope that the right words would come out. His temper then flared, and he pointed his ringed finger at Kassandra.

“You!” he yelled, directing the room’s gaze at her. “Your line was meant to end! You were dead, and we were victorious! Your brother’s birth brought an end to your line, and you should have stayed dead!”

“Enough!” the ephor bellowed. “Take him out, strip him of his crown. Starve him, like his grandfather before him.”

“His curse be on you!” Pausanias yelled as he was removed from the room. Kassandra didn’t look at him as he went past, but felt his spit land on her arm: his final disrespect. 

“Kassandra, Brasidas. Come forward, please.” Archidamos had collapsed into his chair, exhaustion rattling through him. The two approached him gingerly, showing the respect due to their King. 

“Kassandra, you and yours have gained your citizenship. Brasidas, your promotion. You will be presented with your laurels once the new King is decided, whoever that may be.”

Kassandra and Brasidas both bowed as they left the room, ensuring to stay low until out of sight. 

They didn’t speak until they were back at Brasidas’ house, and Kassandra had sent Ikaros to Alexios telling him that it was done. 

“Do you think his father killed my uncle?” she asked him after settling onto his lap. The fire was getting low in front of them, and they were sharing a cup of wine between them, waiting for the day to end. “From what you remember of them, I mean.”

“I think it likely, yes. Your uncle was incredibly strong, both in body and mind. It’s unbelievable that a hunting trip would take him so easily.”

Kassandra drew circles into his chest where her hand rested, breathing in his smell. 

“Alexios mentioned that he gets on better with your father,” he continued, running his hands through Kassandra’s hair and down to her back, hesitating only slightly before moving them to her bare skin. “I think part of the reason Myrrine is so hard on him is because he is the spitting image of her brother. There was ten years between them, and I know she loved him dearly. We all did. It would be hard, I think, to have a child come back from the dead who uncannily resembles your dead brother.”

Kassandra hummed in agreement, the conversation taking a turn to a place she couldn’t go. The thought of her brother turning up dead had plagued her since childhood, and even if she’d relaxed somewhat, part of her could only see the limp baby struggling to breathe at the bottom of Taygetos. 

“You should be proud of how you raised him, Kassandra. He is who he is almost solely because of you.”

“Have I raised him for slaughter? Will power within Sparta do him harm?”

“We will be here to protect him, all of us.”

She nodded in response, and rested her head against his collarbone. He kissed her hair and she shivered at his inhale. 

“Kassandra …” he whispered, saying it like a prayer. She responded to him, moving her hands under his chiton and along his thighs.

“Yes, General?” she whispered in reply, letting her lips fall to his and flipping her legs so they fell on either side of him. 

“Kassandra,” he whispered again, lifting her chiton above her head and freeing her hair from the leather that bound it. 

She silenced him with a hard kiss, pressing herself so close to him that she could feel his thoughts as they raced through his mind. 

“Stop thinking so much,” she whispered, and he laughed as he flipped her over.

Afterwards, when the sun was setting in the west, she woke to find him and his armour missing. She jumped up, slightly panicked, the blanket still about her shoulders and began searching for a note or sign that would indicate where the Spartan had gone.

Rustling through his papers, she found some that indicated his spywork had gone beyond spywork, but was rather some kind of military plan. She didn’t dwell on it, instead returning to her search. The wind was beginning to pick up, and she pulled the blanket further around her. 

As she reached for a promising piece of paper, the door swung open and he stood before her. His eyes travelled over her, then towards where she was searching his notes.

“Kassandra?” he asked, his tone failing to hide his annoyance.

“I thought you might have left a note,” she said hoarsely, the wine from the morning dehydrating her. 

“No,” he said quickly. Then he shook his head and walked towards her. He was in his full armour, glorious in its shades of gold and red. He carried his helm under his arm, ready to bring it to his head. “Archidamos has asked me to lead the forces at Pylos, Athenians have already landed. It’s my first test.”

He said the words quickly, as if unable to get them out otherwise. “Kassanda, I …” He didn’t hesitate, but launched himself at her and let himself be engulfed in her arms. She ran her hands over his face and into his hair as he pushed her against the table “I don’t want to rush things,” he continued. “I don’t want to make you uneasy. I don’t want to repeat the uncertainty you felt in Arkadia in the autumn. But the Athenians are at their peak.”

“Brasidas…”

He looked at her with a certainty that she hadn’t seen before, one that wasn’t present in her chest. He was going to Pylos, and may not come back. He, who had become her safety, her surety. He, who had literally burst into her life in a blaze of iron, but who had proven himself her echo in life and in battle. 

“I’m coming with you,” she said with finality. 

He pulled back from her, her hands still on his face. “No, absolutely not.”

“I won Boeotia, I won Megaris, I won Korinth. These are the things you told your King.” Her chin jutted out in defiance, throwing his own words back at him.

The look in his eyes turned from love to anger. “Those weren’t open battle,” he said. “This is different: I won’t be able to concentrate if I know I’m also commanding you.”

“Brasidas.”

“Kassandra.”

“I’m not letting you go without me.”

He leant towards her, pushing her further into his work desk. “Please, my love, please stay.”

She didn’t match his pleading tone. “Why can you plead it to me, but not I to you? Why can I not say ‘please stay, my love’? Why is it up to you?”

He shook his head. “Because I have to go.”

“So do I.”

“What of Alexios? Who protects him while Sparta has no King?”

“Do you think there’s a threat?” she asked sharply.

“No, but-”

“Then, I’m coming with you.”

Seeing his persuasion fail, he turned and fled back into his temper. He placed his arms on either side of her, resting them on the desk behind her, pressing their bodies against each other. “Please. Stay.” 

She kissed him, and he grabbed for her waist to lift her onto the table. Her blanket dropped, revealing all of her, and the contrast between her bare, olive skin and his stark, golden armour made her laugh. He moved her backwards, tilting her towards him as she fumbled to move his armour aside. 

He could die tomorrow. He may be buried in Pylos with his men, an unmarked grave for a marked man. They were waiting for him, now, to lead them to certain defeat. But she couldn’t let him leave in anger, or resentment. 

She opened for him, and heard him gasp like she hadn’t since she’d first had him in Arkadia. Things had changed: the stakes had changed, and both of them knew that things would be different after this. 

“Be my wife,” he whispered to her, panting into her hair as they both slumped together, clutching each other. “Be my wife, Kassandra.”

She pulled her face back from his shoulder, and placed her hands alongside his cheeks. She searched through him, of everything she knew of him.

He’d been her father’s assistant when she was a child, toing and froing between the agoge and her childhood home. 

He’d bounded through the wall of the Monger’s warehouse, letting his soul sing to hers through matched instincts. 

He’d come to the Adrestia, with his papers and his secrets, and laid them bare for her. He’d spoken of her parents and her home city like a flickering flame, bright but wild. 

He’d spoken for them, vouched for them, when they first returned to Sparta. He’d thrown his lot in with them, and was made poorer by the association, but did it anyway. 

He’d believed her about the cult; believed her about the conspiracy racing for her brother’s life; believed her even when it meant that he lost faith in his friends. 

Finally, she searched his eyes for the love she knew that he held, the care she knew he could give, and the faith she knew she needed to have.

“I’ll be your wife, General,” she whispered, taking hold of his long braid and running it between her fingers. “But I am coming to Pylos.”

His eyes lit at the same time as his brow furrowed, and Kassandra gently pressed her body around the part of him that was still inside her, hoping to expedite his decision. 

“Ok,” he whispered, “but not for the open battle. Ruin their supply lines.”

“That, I can do.”

After Kassandra had dressed and replaced her armour, she wrote a note to Alexios, apologising for not waiting to see him before leaving. 

He found it the following week, after Brasidas had returned to Sparta without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought it was a bit smelly that Pleistarchos (Leonidas’ son) died without heirs, and his regent’s son then inherits.


	22. Looking for Kassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three men search for a woman.

Alexios had never liked hide and seek. When he used to play it as a child, it filled him with anxiety rather than thrill to see his friends disappear into the landscape. Though he laughed with them, it was empty like a cup, or a hollow log. 

_Come on, Alexios!_ they would pester. _We’re sick of you winning the races: let’s play a game we have a chance of winning instead!_

Alexios never rose to the challenge, and instead sat the game out, hoping that while his friends were hiding, large hands meant for ill deeds didn’t snatch them away. 

He hated it. He’d always hated it. But before, he hadn’t been forced to play. 

Now, the cult had forced him to play.

\--------

“Here, one in my network reported this.” Brasidas passed Alexios the Athenian ship manifest detailing cargo headed to Argolis. He took the paper and felt along its hard, dried edge, a prickle of pain shooting through the papercut it gave him. He pressed his thumb and watched the blood bead out of his skin, red as the cloak on his back. 

_Something so small could bloom into a serious injury if it became feverish, _ he thought._ Something as small as a papercut could kill me, and I don’t think I would mind._

He turned his attention to the paper and found lists of luxury goods: cotton cloth, spices, iron, gold. The date on the paper gave it as two seasons ago, in the early winter. A year after Pylos. Kassandra had had two birthdays since then. 

Alexios breathed out the memory of her lost to him, lending it no purchase in his mind. He had his nightmares to adjust to life without her: he didn’t need his mind’s space taken up during the day too. 

“One of these things is not like the others,” he said to his General, handing him back the paper. “Why iron? They don’t produce weapons in Argolis.”

“That was my thought too. Could be for ritual, could be for jewellery. Could be for specific armour and weaponry. It doesn’t list very much of it, either. Makes me think it’s a specialist request.”

Alexios cocked his eyebrows in a gesture that had come to ease his saying of ‘out with it’. 

“Didn’t she talk of a Priestess of Hera?” Brasidas asked, soft tilt to his voice. It sounded something like hope.

“Yes,” Alexios replied brashly. He’d grown tired of the constant up and down that was a false lead. “The one that was raving when she was in Delphi, calling us her children. Though I’m not sure if she was of Hera: Kassandra had her cult notes on her when she-.” Alexios still couldn’t choke out the word, even after two years without her. 

“There’s a temple in Argolis, one that holds both priests and priestesses of Hera.”

Alexios looked up for the first time since Brasidas had entered his house and saw exhaustion in his eyes. He’d not stopped since Pylos, even with an injury that would have been life threatening to anyone else. He’d prodded and poked at every hole, every lead, every small sigh that could have come from Kassandra. Alexios admired his tenacity: anyone else would have given her up for dead and married elsewhere.

“Do you need permission to investigate?” Alexios asked quietly. “If you do, I give you leave.”

“I’ll need permission to leave the city, but what I do outside of it is none of Sparta’s concern,” the General replied. 

Alexios nodded. “It shouldn’t be too much trouble, then.”

Brasidas placed his hand on Alexios’ shoulder. “We’ll find her, Alexios. She’s not lost to us.”

“You’re sounding less and less convinced as time wears on.”

“It’s all I can do. But that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

Alexios fixed him with a withering stare, knowing exactly where Brasidas’ mind was.

“The ephors are growing impatient,” he said quickly, obligatory. Alexios knew how much it pained him to deliver tidings of council.

“They can grow impatient all they wish. I asked for time, and I’ll use it to find my sister.”

“Alexio-.”

“No,” he said with finality. It was an order, not a request. If there’s one thing the last two years had given him, it was authority and the skill to use it. “She promised she would be here when I ascend. And she will be.” The anger fled his eyes and he huffed out a ragged breath. “I can’t do this without her, Brasidas.”

“I know the feeling. But you must know that she would want you to.”

“I need more time.”

Brasidas nodded, and grasped the back of Alexios’ head. “Strength,” was all he said before fleeing the room. 

Alexios sat at his work desk and looked dejectedly over the mass of papers before him. None of it was good enough. None of the guesswork, none of his skills in persuasion, none of his strategic knowledge would bring her back. 

It had seemed an easy thing in the days after Pylos: Kassandra was missing, so they just needed to find her, like she had found him in Kirrha. She hadn’t disappeared without a trace, but nor had she left any sort of trail. He had ended up reaching in the dark with leather binding his hands. 

He looked west, towards the mountain where his life had ended. It seemed smaller now, uninclined to murder. Though that wasn’t true: criminals were still thrown off its height into the valley below. He’d seen their skulls himself. 

He stood and grasped his grandfather’s spear, the only sign that Kassandra had made it to the beach at all. Left in the sand, blood along its handle, Brasidas had returned it to him when he’d returned from defeat. He didn’t tell him in words, but Alexios knew. 

He held the spear now and begged it to tell him where she was. Was she safe? Was she happy and had simply forgotten the life she’d lead before? Had she sailed west, into the Ionian Sea, finally refusing to partake in the life fate had gifted her?

Alexios sheathed the spear onto his back and left his house, walking east towards his parent’s home. As King-apparent, he’d demanded his own space and freedom from the obligations of sleeping in the barracks. He couldn’t stand the chattering, the rumours, the whispers. Once, when Kassandra was only six months gone, he’d heard one of his Spartiates whisper about how she deserved it, how her hubris had not gone unanswered. Alexios tore the man from the hall and into the wild, declaring him dead to his people. 

_How dare they. How dare they speak of hubris in their own safety?_

But Alexios was not yet King. He’d asked for time from his ephors, from his gerousia, from his assembly. He’d asked for time to be properly trained, and they’d given it to him. He’d asked for time to learn his soldiers’ names and earn his outrank, and they’d given it to him. He’d asked for time for his father and brother to teach him, and they’d given it to him.

He hadn’t asked, but they’d given him time to find his sister. 

But now he was out of the agoge. He knew every citizen’s name, and most of the helots and perioeci too, despite how fleeting their population was. He knew the workings of every Spartan battle since Alcamenes and the Messenians. He knew how to manage the phalanx. He knew how to command men in battle when their fear overtook their training. He knew the movement of the polis, how it swayed under the checks and balances created to defend it. He knew Archidamos, and the man’s limits and desires. Critically, he knew how to manage his partner King’s war lust, and direct the rhetoric back to their common goals. 

The ephors were becoming impatient, and Kassandra was still nowhere to be found. 

He knocked on the front door of his mother’s house, shoulders tingling with the weight of his chlamys.

His father answered, and seeing Alexios’ drooped shoulders, touched his cheek lightly. “My boy,” he said as he moved to let him in. “What troubles you?”

Alexios didn’t dignify the question with an answer: his father knew what troubled him. He knew the whispers and streaking obligation that followed his son around Sparta. But he always asked, and sometimes Alexios answered. 

He sat down at the main table, reaching for a scattered pile of rags absentmindedly. He felt for the holes, and pulled them slightly wider, this small effort being the only destruction he felt he could make in a cosmos that swallowed him everyday.

_Kosmos._

“I saw Brasidas today,” Alexios said, dropping the cloth. “He may have a lead on Kassandra.”

Nikolaos nodded. This would be the hundredth lead in as many weeks. Alexios knew that his father had already given up.

“Is Stentor here?” he asked, mild annoyance entering his voice. 

“Yes, in the field.”

Alexios stood and his father stood with him, further encouraging Alexios’ annoyance. These displays of respect were out of order in the privacy of his familial home, but he’d long given up trying to encourage Spartan breeding from his parents. 

His step-brother was a different story. Stentor was only agonisingly respectful in company, and Alexios breathed it in like fresh air after a rainstorm. 

“Stentor,” he called as he walked to the field, crimson billowing behind him. The cloak was another reminder of his place, and Sparta insisted on it, ever apologetic to the King-apparent who they had tried to throw from a mountain-side.

Stentor only nodded at him, needing his voice low to break in a particularly hardy mare. 

“I saw Brasidas today,” Alexios said, coming closer. 

“Yes, he came to the barracks,” Stentor replied softly. No amount of goading would make him yell when he was this close to encouraging the bridle onto the horse. 

“Argolis?” Alexios asked.

“Argolis,” Stentor confirmed. “Though I don’t know how strong it is. Is he going?”

“I’ve given him leave. Means we might need you to fill his post for a bit while he’s away.”

“Ever suffering,” his step brother quipped. He slipped the leather over the horse’s nose and tightened it slightly. The horse jostled in mild fear, but calmed at Stentor’s hand. “I know I’d not stop trying if it was my wife.”

“You shouldn’t want to stop trying anyway because she’s your sister.”

“Yes, Agiad,” Stentor said with a hint of sarcasm. He tied the horse to a post and walked away from her, rubbing his hands on his chiton. The two were in such stark contrast compared to when they first met: Alexios in the royal armour required of him, and Stentor in a basic chiton worn specifically for farm work. And now, at least, Alexios was taller. “Look, I won’t give up on her like pater has. I think there’s more to this. We know Athens isn’t holding her or we would have received an offer for her return. She’s somewhere in Hellas, and if anyone is going to find her, it’s Brasidas.”

He clapped a hand onto Alexios’ shoulder and smiled sadly at him. “But you have to take the crown, Alexios. It won’t wait forever.”

“I know,” he replied, kicking a stone so it tumbled down the hill. “She said she’d be there, that’s all.”

Stentor softened his voice, encouraging, same as when he had been muttering to the mare. “When I thought I’d lost pater in Megaris, I thought I couldn’t command without him. I thought my own ability lost, like I was cast out to sea. But it wasn’t true. She trained you for this, and she would be angry that you hesitated before your position for her sake.”

“I didn’t come here to be lectured.”

“Then why did you come?”

“Because I know you won’t treat me like I’m chasing a ghost.”

Stentor regarded him, his hand still on his shoulder. “You aren’t. She’s too valuable to them to be dead.”

Alexios sighed. “I remember what they did to me, and I was only with them for three days. They made me forget my own name, made me forget anything but pain. Stentor, what if we get her back and it’s not her anymore?”

“Then you bring her back.”

\--------

“I saw her.”

Brasidas had spoken before Alexios had even opened the door properly. “I saw her in Argolis.”

Alexios gestured inside, leaving space for the frazzled General to collapse at his table. He then wrote a quick note to Stentor and closed it with his royal seal, giving it to a helot and asking him to run. Then he bolted the door and turned to Brasidas.

“Is she alive?” was the first thing he asked, but a tide of questions needed to follow it. 

“Yes, she’s alive,” Brasidas coughed, the dust from his flight moving from his clothing into his lungs. “Water.”

Alexios nodded and obliged, then settled next to the door, knowing that Stentor would shortly join them. He could barely wait to hear what Brasidas had seen of Kassandra, but he knew that his brother needed to hear it too, and that it might be too much to ask for Brasidas to repeat it. So they waited in silence until Alexios heard the unmistakable thundering of a gallop moving towards his property. He unbolted the door and ushered Stentor inside.

“You saw her?” was the first thing Stentor asked, taking off his cloak and draping it over a chair. 

Alexios saw tears in the older man’s eyes as he no doubt pictured his wife in his mind. “She’s alive, but she’s not her. She’s thinner than I’ve ever seen her, and her hair isn’t braided, it’s cut short to her scalp.” He shook his head and swallowed more water, body begging for the horror of it to disappear. “She looked right at me, then looked passed me. Her eyes weren’t hers: they weren’t glowing how hers used to. They belonged to a stranger.”

“She saw you?” Stentor asked in an urgent whisper. Their heads were bent together as if denying the purchase of information to anyone external to them.

“She looked at me, I don’t know if she saw me.”

“What else did you find?” Alexios asked, his voice dangerously low. 

“She didn’t see me, but her keeper did. The Priestess she was chasing, before. She saw me and shadowed me as I searched the temple, she must have. I was close to the healers, close to where their students sleep. Then I heard her singing it: a Spartan lullaby.”

“How does it go?” 

Alexios tensed as Brasidas mimicked the tune that was familiar to all of their childhoods: the one their mothers had sung to them as they were lulled out of their nightmares. It reminded Stentor of the smell of torn grass and sweat; it reminded Brasidas of cherries and the taste of roasted meat; and it reminded Alexios of oranges and Kassandra. 

Tears sprung from his eyes, as they already had from Brasidas’, and he wiped them with his Spartan crimson. It was designed to hide wounds, after all. 

Stentor spoke first.

“So if she’s alive, she’s able to be rescued.”

But Brasidas shook his head. “The Priestess found me as I listened to her sing. They would have moved her by now.”

“What?” Alexios said, fury belying his word. 

“I’m sorry, King. I couldn’t leave without her. I thought I could-.”

“So instead, you’ve condemned her to further torment in your hubris.”

“Alexios, don-.”

“No, brother,” Alexios thundered as he looked at Brasidas. “The General decided to act when he should have just watched.”

“I miss her too,” Brasidas yelped, tears streaming down his face. “As much as you. I miss her like my soul is draining away. Tell me, King, would you have been able to walk away from her?”

Alexios didn’t answer. The simple answer was no, he wouldn’t. He would have torn the heart from the Priestess and eaten it. He would have broken the temple in two. He would have …

“No,” he answered, resignation filling him. “But she was singing, so some of her is left.”

“So what do we do now?” Stentor asked after a brief pause.

“What we’ve been doing so far: listen and watch,” Alexios said. “We’ve found her once, we can find her again.”

“Alexios, you hold more power as King. You must undertake the role. Perhaps, if word reaches her that you’re King, she might have a mind to escape.”

“You said she didn’t recognise you when she saw you?” Alexios asked Brasidas.

“Yes, like I was a stranger.”

“Then we best not rely on her remembrance of me.”


	23. Amphipolis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amphipolis

_King,_

_Skirmishes in Korinth. Our small force was routed by a single son, climbing over the hill and slicing through us. His hand didn’t falter, his fist didn’t waver. It was Ares, I’m sure._

__Alexios had ceased believing in the Gods. If they existed, then they were simply breaths of wind and nothing more.

_King,_

_I apologise, I have shamed myself and my city. How it happened, I couldn’t say, but that is no excuse. The men camping on the horn of Boeotia were found dead in their beds, only a small cut in their right side weeping. We’re close to having no presence in the region._

Alexios knew that Archidamos would shout and bray at him when he found out, rather than give into the rising dread this brought.

_King, _

_I have no leads and no hopes of any. But my men whisper of a presence that fights for Athens and her cause. They described a man of the greatest height, shining gold, without a voice and who slips passed them as though he doesn’t exist at all. His technique is Spartan, though adapted._

_She’s as tall as any man, and last I saw her hair was cut to her scalp. Perhaps?_

Perhaps what, Brasidas? What is the meaning of your letter and your mind? Is the ghost that haunts Spartan men across Hellas my lost sister and your lost wife?

If yes, then she’s more than lost to us.

_King,_

_The silver mines in the north are a comforting spectre to Athens but their alliances grow weak. Give me leave to take it, and I can listen to whispers along the way._

\--------

“I give you leave, Brasidas,” Alexios said, waving his hand dismissively. He was seated upon the Agiad throne and it felt as though he was seated upon spikes. He didn’t want to be there; he hated everything about it. The responsibility; the power; the distraction it provided. 

_I’m sorry, little brother, but the best Kings are the ones who don’t want to be on the throne._

Kassandra’s whisper was one that he heard everyday, through every act he undertook as King. Everytime his father deferred to him, he heard it. Everytime a Spartiate looked uneasy with tidings, he heard it. Everytime he entered the twin thrones, he heard it. 

Brasidas bowed to him and left him seated on cold stone. 

“It’s brash,” Archidamos said, a mother hen preening her feathers. “It won’t help the war.”

“Opinions are like arseholes, Archidamos. Everybody has one,” Alexios replied, slumping and forcing the hard corners of his chair into his back. 

“And what’s yours, boy? We know why he seeks it and it has nothing to do with Sparta.”

“Then you know why I allowed it, and why you kept silent as I did.”

“You’ve a lot to learn about ignoring nepotistic tendencies.”

“I don’t, actually.” Alexios dismissed. “And don’t call me _boy_.” He then stood and left the room, intending to find his brother. 

\--------

“King,” his father greeted him at the barracks, stooping. “More letters from the north.” 

“Pater,” Alexios replied respectfully, taking the stack of papers from him. “Why are you here?”

His father had aged considerably since his dishonoured return from the dead. His farm and his wife tried to keep him busy, but Alexios could see the break that had occurred when he’d accepted his daughter’s death.

Nikolaos pinned him with a questioning look. “I’ve been assisting Stentor with the plan for our push back into Attika.”

“Are we pushing into Attika, are we?”

“Yes, King. It’s to serve as a distraction while Brasidas takes the helots north.”

Alexios nodded, then pocketed the papers to look at later. 

“Alexios,” his father started, hesitation ringing. “I think you need to take this idea of Brasidas’ more seriously.”

“Which part of it, pater?”

“It could be her.” There, the ringing crack of hope that was rounding itself into the minds of Kassandra’s men. “Athens has gained a huge amount of information of our movements since Pylos and Sphakteria. They’ve been able to outmanoeuvre us at every turn. Perhaps it is her.”

_Perhaps_.

Perhaps his sister is dressed in gold and killing men.

_It was Ares, I’m sure._

Surely she would have made her way back to us, if they let her free to kill?

_Your sword their weapon, your spear their watch._

They’d cut her mind from her body, leaving only her swing and thrust behind.

_Perhaps we could make a trade, one for the other?_

She had made the trade, and had left their world without her.

“Perhaps,” Alexios replied coolly. “Is Stentor here?”

Nikolaos nodded. “In the yard with the children.”

“Thank you, pater.”

“Anything, King.”

Alexios made his way through the vaulted halls of the agoge and looked up. Spears and shields knocked against each other on the fresco, red and black. The movement of the men depicted flowed through colour and tile: the dominance of Sparta on full display. Alexios had never noticed it before, but only the commanders had eyes. 

He walked through to the yard and saw boys with bare feet and wooden staffs trying to leave welts on their opponents. Stentor walked among them bellowing technique, correcting stances, humming approval. Once he noticed Alexios on the steps, he called for the boys to cease and break for water. 

“Isn’t this below your rank?” Alexios asked once his brother reached him.

Stentor scoffed at him. “Nothing is below me, even teaching boys that their weapons are simply their extension. And besides, I’m sick of battle planning.”

“Is that why you asked pater to do it?” Alexios replied, the humour he’d intended to punctuate the question disappearing before it could begin.

“Yes, and no. He’s bored, it’s something he’s good at, and I don’t want to do it. Everybody wins.”

“As long as we win the war, that is.”

“As long as Brasidas’ Thrakean tom-foolery works, you mean. The man’s mad.”

“Then he’s been mad for years, and Sparta has never noticed. I gave him leave this morning.”

“Yes, he mentioned.” Stentor paused as they watched the children’s drinking from the well devolve into a splashing fight. Bright eyed and blissfully unaware that their King and their General watched them, the boys laughed and released the tension of the spar. Alexios longed to join them. 

“I need you to stay here, but once Brasidas is successful, because he will be successful, I’ll travel north. If it’s true, and she’s the wind that blows through us, she’ll be there.”

“Alexios, I’ll never speak against you as a brother or a subject, but that’s a stupid idea.”

Alexios cocked his eyebrow.

“Amphipolis isn’t a prize that’s worth a King, or a king’s sister.”

“Oh, you mistake me, brother. I have no strategy in mind at all.”

“You’ve grown reckless.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is apathetic.”

“No, Alexios, I don’t think anyone could be mistaken for thinking you don’t _care_.”

“You said you’d never speak against me.”

“There are no other heirs, Alexios. No one to pick up the crown that you’ll throw to the ground in Thake.”

“It’s mine to throw.”

Stentor looked close to boxing his ears, petulance that he’d not even expect from the boys currently wasting water. They were both suddenly re-aware of their age difference: Stentor had recently started growing a beard whereas Alexios was disbarred from the practice for years yet.

Stentor softened, his voice lowering its beat and his words exuding calm. Alexios did the same thing to Archidamos when he needed the King’s agreement. 

“Alexios, tell Brasidas of your plans. Let him plan around you, let us develop the strategy for your safety so that you can extract her. Don’t treat it like a jaunt: treat it like a battle.”

Alexios didn’t answer, but just continued surveying the future of the Spartan military. They’d finished playing and were now sitting together under the shade of an olive tree. 

“He leaves tomorrow,” Alexios said after letting the question fester in him, clapping Stentor on the shoulder. “I’ll do as you say, but only because you were the one who suggested it.”

“Yes, King,” Stentor replied, bowing slightly. Then he walked towards the boys, barking orders for their resumed matches. 

\--------

Alexios walked back to his home, kicking rocks as he went. They’d received word of Brasidas’ successes in Makedonia and his attentions on Thrakean Amphipolis. He hadn’t taken the city yet, but anticipated days before the people opened their gates to him and his generosity. 

Archidamos had seethed when Brasidas’ terms for the captured towns came through. He’d promised them things that Sparta could not deliver on, but things that had successfully starved the Athenians of their war chest. Alexios had resisted the smile that paused behind his lips on the messenger’s news. This might force peace. The bastard had done it. 

He’d not seen Kassandra, or the wind that destroyed Sparta’s every effort on the mainland. His letters spoke of her as one and the same, but Alexios would need to see it to believe it.

It had been three years since Pylos, three years since she went missing. Only Brasidas’ trip to Argolis had yielded anything of her. Alexios would be lying if he said that his jealous heart didn’t yearn for Brasidas’ small glimpse of her, even if it confirmed their worst fears. 

There were fates worse than death, and Kassandra was living proof that you could be hit hard and melt. She’d been reforged, and she was no longer his sister. 

He had to save her. He’d contracted Barnabas for the Adrestia to sail him north. A Spartan King on the water was suited to shark fodder, so a simple Spartan man would have to suffice. 

He entered his home and walked directly to his work desk, where all of the correspondence was catalogued and sorted. He didn’t reach for any of them, knowing their contents by heart, but instead reached for the letter that she’d left him before she’d been called to Pylos. It was worn with years of his salted tears, and rubbed almost clear by his touch of the words. 

_I’m sorry for not saying goodbye in person, but Pylos will not wait._

He couldn’t hear her whisper it to him, only hearing the echo of his own voice.

_I travel with Brasidas, as his wife as well as the bane of Athens._

She never should have gone.

_I love you, and I’m proud of you, brother._

Nothing could have prepared him for her loss. He’d tried to let the hurt go, to listen to the hopelessness of his mother and intolerance of his state. He’d tried to let it take flight, blowing it towards the Gods and their vengeance. But instead it rooted and grew, each whisper a death knell for the man he’d hoped to be. A husband, a farmer: using his skills in strategy to beat his sister in games and teach his children. Use his skills in speaking to perform at the assembly, to encourage poetry, to preach peace and compassion to the children learning to fight. That’s what he’d wanted from this Spartan state. 

He’d been naive. Sparta never wanted him for himself, they wanted him for his blood and the blood of Kings that flowed through him. He was nothing more than a member of the phalanx defending Sparta from ruin. 

Kassandra had known it, but had gone to Boeotia for their citizenship because he’d wanted it. He’d wanted the home and community that Sparta meant. 

They should have stayed on Kephallonia. 

He pocketed the letter and left his home, leaving the Kingdom in the warmonger hands of his partner King. 

\--------

“Alexios!” Brasidas boomed as he entered the tent. There would be no King here, just a man to fight with the Spartans. He was dressed like a Spartiate, but his cloak was his own.

“General,” Alexios replied as they embraced. “We should have let you lead the effort sooner: such efficiency.”

Brasidas laughed, his joyousness only mildly concerning for the stress that it hid. There were too many eyes and too many ears for candor.

“Did you see the Athenians on your approach?” he asked.

“Yes, they’re waiting for something.”

“For _her_,” Brasidas replied, a brightness in his eye that Alexios hadn’t seen in years. It was more than hope, more than a prayer. 

Alexios touched his shoulder lightly. “I will fight with you, friend, and we’ll send the Athenians to their graves.”

Brasidas looked at him nervously. “Your sister might never forgive me for fielding you, but who am I to refuse you?”

Alexios nodded, and Brasidas detailed how Amphipolis would stay free of Athens. 

\--------

It wasn’t a good morning, nor was it a bad one. In the haste of day, details are missed. How did the sky look just before the sun spoke her song? How did the birds react when their eyes beheld the morning light? How did the women stroke their partner’s hair, when it covered their eyes in slumber? How did the details, so easily forgotten on an insignificant day, play out for those who took time to look?

Alexios didn’t sleep. He’d stayed up with Brasidas, receiving notes and messages from scouts situated around the city. Athens had come, and they were braying for the return of their property. Alexios was not a king here, and would be commanded by his General easily. To the northern end of the battlefield, and Brasidas didn’t have to say it, but away from harm. 

Because harm was the wind about to blow through them. The golden spectre, the ghoul, that had been running the breadth of Hellas in search of Spartan blood, was coming. That was the other reason for Brasidas’ placement: Alexios could watch for her from the north, and he from the south. If it was her, that is. It could be another weapon wielded for the green commander Kleon. It could be an echo of the West Wind, with the same champion blood and the same taught skill, come for recognition.

Or it could be Kassandra, with her hair cut to her scalp, and her armour the sun. 

Alexios was released from the gate and was closed within his phalanx. His spear arm steady as he listened and responded to his brother warriors’ hearts and movements. He responded to each thrown javelin and each spear jab with the breath he’d been taught since he’d entered Lakonia. Then he heard his General’s voice, clear as if he were speaking beside him. 

“The left flank, forward!”

Alexios moved with his men and barrelled down on the fleeing Athenians, focusing his breathing and his muscle in an excruciating cry of _don’t break to look; don’t bear to look._ He’d misheard an order, because his closest mate has broken away, and as have the others to chase down the Athenians as they ran west. Alexios was left with his spear and his shield, which he threw to the ground in favour of his father’s sword. 

Brasidas had gone from his position, and Alexios started south to find him, slicing through men without looking at them. 

He found himself at the top of a crest, his vision scanning the battle, the massacre, for any sign of his common-law brother. Then he saw it, the gleam of a knife’s edge. Flashing, showing its face then hiding it at the mercy of Helios. 

It was her. It was her form. It was her rolling shoulders refusing to shudder at the weight of Athenian carnage. 

Then she paused, her arm hanging to her left: a snake’s neck coiled. 

_Brasidas._

His arms are similarly at his sides, his weapons refusing to be raised to her. His reduction in face of such a threat echoed in the heat and moved along the battlelines. He refused to fight; he refused to match her. 

Alexios ran. His crimson billowed behind him and he moved with the authority of a king among men. And his men move for him, though whether they see their brother Spartiate, or a commander, he will never know. His ears ignore everything except the flapping of the fabric as the wind turned it. 

Her sword is raised, a kopis, like she favoured before. Alexios can hear Brasidas pleading, begging her to come back to him. 

But she strikes, and he falls. 

The sun moved then, as though the skies had decided to part for a better view of the show.

_Did I ever tell you that I love the theatre?_

It shines on Alexios, and he sees his sister’s eyes for the first time since they camped on the mountain in Messenia. 

They’re grey where they used to be gold. The edges are ringed with dirt and her eyelashes are gone. They go on a journey as they take him in: the determination that brought her sword through her husband; the fear that brought her to this coast; the anger that boxed in that fear and made it productive; the relief of her choice manifested.

_We could make a trade._

She had. She had made the trade. Him for her, her suffering for his peace, her fear for his safety.

That’s why she hadn’t returned to him. That’s why she blew down Spartan forces with a breath. That’s why she needed to continue her work, here, in far away Thrake, so that her masters would say she upheld her bargain. That she protected her ward. That she protected her brother. 

The flash of recognition set her mouth in a single word.

“Alexios?”

He didn’t answer her before her mouth slackened and she fell forward, arrowhead in her back. Kleon of Athens stood behind her, bow raised, profanities spilling from his mouth. 

Alexios bellowed to his men to retrieve their General and Athens’ weapon and return them to the Adrestia, and only the Adrestia. These are his men, after all: he’s learnt all of their names. 

Then he chased after the answers he craved. 

The green doesn’t get far before Alexios is on him, tripping his feet so he lands in wet sand. 

“Kleon of Athens, we’ve met before,” Alexios seeths. “You were trouble even then, basking in Spartan prowess as if you could prevent it.”

“You’re the boy who imposed himself on Perikles, claiming ignorance,” Kleon coughed. Alexios had his throat and was pushing his head further and further into death. 

“I’m the _King_ who imposed himself,” Alexios corrected. “But you already knew that, didn’t you.”

Kleon laughed with wet paper down his throat: gagged and powerless. 

“Why us,” Alexios whispered, venom dripping. 

“Because you were useful; because no one could match you.”

“What did you do to her?”

“Oh, I don’t sully my hands with such things. But Chrysis and Nyx did a wonderful job on her. She only begged once: when we tested her loyalty with our younger subjects.”

The sand was beginning to enter his mouth, but Alexios couldn’t prevent himself from pushing further and further, until his head was submerged. 

The cold stole over him, the clouds moving before the sun. Even the Gods couldn’t watch their own fall. 

Alexios let go. He felt the breeze of vengeance move up the sand, but he would close that box and view it another day. There was still work to be done.


	24. Adrestia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassandra and Brasidas heal.

We were playing dice, betting only our compliments and jeers. If I won, he had to give me a compliment and I had to give him an insult. If he won, then it would be the opposite. Something simple, something that wouldn’t make the other push off in anger or blush in embarrassment.

It was a game, but one I enjoyed. It passed the time.

I came up with a six, having bet a one to his five.

“I think your hair is golden in the sun, Alexios,” I said, looking to his crown.

“Our hair is the same colour, you know,” he replied with some sorrow in his voice. “Yours has just been sheared off.”

I grinned at him, and bet a three, _always safe_, to his six. The dice landed on five, and it was my turn again to remind him of his best qualities.

“You are at ease in even the darkest of places,” I said.

“How long have I wished to be free of the dark,” he replied, choking slightly at the words. I looked at him inquisitively, but his face didn’t look to have been the one that spoke the words. His face was always carefree, here. 

“That’s not an insult,” I exclaimed, picking up the dice once more. I rolled the bone through my hands, unable to press at its rough edges. Unable to feel the blood pooling beneath my skin as I crushed my palm into death. 

“Why would I insult you, Kassandra?” he asked, his face impassive. 

“Oh,” I said, mainly to myself. “Didn’t you know that this is a dream?”

“But I’m here,” he replied, making her hands warm to his touch. 

“Yes, you always say that in dreams.”

“No, Kassandra. You’re on the Adrestia. Wake up.”

“Yes, we’re often on the Adrestia, too. How I miss the sea and the freedom it brought. No matter, I’m sure I’ll be reminded of my chains soon.”

He dissolved in front of me, darkness engulfing him. Although I was used to his nightly dice games, I was less used to him disappearing without my say so. He usually stayed until I was satisfied that I continued to do what was best for him. 

There’s pressure on my chest now, and a shouting from outside. Someone is trying to wake me. Hopefully it isn’t infanticide today, of all days. 

\--------

“Kassandra?” 

Alexios spoke the word quietly, hoping to lull her out of her hiding place. He wasn’t fond of speaking to the dead. 

Her eyes fluttered slightly, and he sighed in exasperation. It had been three days since Amphipolis, since Kleon had sunk beneath the sand. Her wound was healing, but she was stubbornly refusing to come back to him. 

“I did what you asked,” he started, sitting on his hands as they felt the cold of the wood beneath them. “I’m trying to fix Sparta from the top. I’ve installed philosophy into the agoge, in the guise of discovering the nature of our Gods. It’s linked to people’s purpose; their meaning; their role. Everyone has a role, from the beetle to the King, and now that role can be explored by thinkers outside of War.”

He stopped for a minute, thinking of what he could possibly say into the three year void. His achievements as King felt empty, like he was justifying an empty notebook to a harsh tutor.

“Everyone comments that I need a steady hand, so at least you’ll now be there to provide it again. As long as you don’t defer to me like pater does.” 

A nervous laugh escaped his lips, sounding too much like a jeer. He sighed again, unable to place himself in the space despite it being all he’d hoped for since Pylos. 

_Soul. Heart. Life. Earth and Sky._

“I missed you, Kass. More than you could know. I lost myself without you. Stentor said I was reckless, jealous, unreasonable. Your husband would say the same.” He stopped as he remembered the mortally wounded man lying in an adjacent cabin, his lieutenants tending to him, but with only small hope. They were making for Argos, rough seas propelling them forward, in the hope that modern medicinal knowledge could help the man his sister had cut down. 

Alexios turned his mind back to her, but he couldn’t face her stone skin or her unsmiling mouth. 

“You’re steady, like a marbled statue, Kass. And you’re loyal almost to a fault. You’re clever and determined and driven.” He was whispering now, letting the words fall to her ears in the promise of familiarity. “You’re more than they made you, more than Sparta made you, more than Kephallonia made you. Please don’t be afraid to wake up, sister. We’re all ready for you, no matter the difference or the cost. You’re worth all of it.”

His eyes were looking to his lap when he finished, unable to keep his tears from falling to his cheeks. So he didn’t see the crack of iris, the wet nose, the shuddering sigh. He only heard the same haunted word that had met him on the beach.

“Alexios?”

\--------

“Tell me what you remember.”

“Of what?”

“Start at the most recent.”

They were sitting on their respective beds, knees knocking together as if unwilling or unable to lose their physical contact. Alexios had forgotten what it was like to have this connection with someone, where you could share troubles and fears simply through a touch. Her skin had lost its wax since she’d eaten and rested, and the wound on her back was clear and covered. Though he’d not dared to hope that he’d find her in Thrake, he’d packed her a chiton anyway. It hung off her lean frame, as she covered herself in his crimson cloak for warmth.

“I remember the sun, and the wind,” she said, gravel in her throat. “I remember it moving through Athens as Sparta pushed them back.”

“Sparta lost only seven men to Athens’ seven hundred, if the count was to be believed.”

“I saw men respond to you, before I even knew it was you. They split down the middle at your word.”

She stopped, choking to vocalise what came before the sun moved and she saw her brother on the hill. A keening came from deep within her throat, the pain of the sound lighting a fire in her brother.

“You aren’t safe if I’m here, brother.”

“I don’t care about my safety, Kassandra. I care about yours.”

“All I’ve done, all the pain, was to keep you safe. To keep you all safe,” she whimpered. She took his hands in hers, fingers lingering on his golden Agiad seal ring and the scars he’d received in Elis. “And now you’re vulnerable again and it was for nothing.” 

“I never wanted you to make the trade,” he said, rubbing her hands back. They were covered in scars also, but they were different to his: more purposeful, with shapes and letters carved into her skin. _Lambda,_ mainly: Lakedaemon, marked into a prized possession. Acknowledgement that Kassandra was Spartan, but in the hands of those who wished the city harm. An insult if he ever saw one. The same letter marked his chest from his time in Delphi, so many years ago.

“It was mine to make,” she replied softly. “It was mine to make.”

“Sparta will keep you safe, sister. We can keep you safe, I promise you. Stentor, pater, Brasidas, even Archidamos is-.”

“No, Alexios,” she interrupted. “The safety is an illusion. They didn’t target Sparta because that was my trade. Now they will; they’ll come after you all.”

Alexios’ tone changed, moving from the gentle encouragement of a brother to the firm hardening of resolve. “Please trust that our city can protect us.”

“Like they protected our uncle? Or you on the mountain?”

“The cultist has been cut out, they have no foothold.”

She didn’t reply, but instead made the same ghostly keening within her throat that was her grief unable to be voiced. Alexios continued to rub her hands until the sound ceased and tears replaced it.

“I didn’t want to kill any of them, I didn’t want to strike or thrust or stab,” she cried quietly.

“I know, Kassandra. You don’t have to justify that here. And no one will question you on it.”

She shook her head vigorously, shaking as she did so. “No, you don’t understand,” she whispered. “I couldn’t aim for a killing blow, but they said that my task was to destroy the General, to make Sparta feel his loss.” She was sobbing now, her words punctuated by gasps of breath. “But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do as they said. I couldn’t.”

“Shhh, shhh, sister. You didn’t kill him, he breathes.”

“But I still struck him: I still spilled his blood. His pain is my fault.”

“Kassandra, do you think Brasidas would think this?”

“I would think it, if it were me.”

“He traced you for the entire time you were gone. I have thousands of letters, manifests and leads sitting in my study that may have promised even a minor glimpse of you. He begged me for his helot army so he could draw you out to Amphipolis, so he could reach you and extract you. Sister, if he hasn’t already, he will forgive you for it.” Alexios splayed his hands along his knees, rubbing the sweat from them. “Is that why Kleon shot you?”

Kassandra nodded. “He saw my resolve crumble when I saw you.” She paused a moment, then looked up to his honey eyes, the same ones she could now see had aged considerably. “Why were you there?”

“In Amphipolis? I go where I want.”

That elicited a small smile from her. “Surely the city would want to keep you.”

“I travelled as a Spartiate, under my General, and worked in the Phalanx until he disappeared south. I was to look for you from the north side, but when he went missing from his post, I smelt trouble. So I followed the smoke, and that’s when I found you.”

“You went all the way to Thrake because you knew I’d be there?”

“Truthfully, no. Brasidas knew you would be there, Stentor thought the plan idiotic, but pater had hope, so two out of four ain’t bad.”

There, another small smile. It felt eerily like when he’d first met their mother, and he wanted to both acknowledge the distance she required while being desperate to envelope her in his arms. He had a hold of her hands, at least, and could push his love through them. 

“Do you want to see him?” Alexios asked gently, wiping her tears away with his hands. Though he’d brought her back from her mind, brought her back from the killing on the beach, he knew that he was now only part of her healing. There were others that needed to fill her void, too.

She nodded, and he took her hand and led her from their cabin to the General’s.

His lieutenants stood to attention when he knocked, but looked suspiciously at Kassandra. 

“King,” one said, eyes flickering between the siblings.

“We’re a day from Argolis,” Alexios replied, his gruff irritation masking his pain at the warriness they held for his sister.

The man nodded, knowing the question he asked. “We’ll make it.”

Alexios acknowledge him, then moved aside to indicate that the two should vacate. They looked again to Kassandra, but it was Alexios’ order, rather than a request. 

She hadn’t moved from the doorway where she glimpsed him, his body breathing lightly in sleep. His chest was bare, sweat beading along the top of it and a strip of bandages trailing down his left arm: the wound she had given him. Once the lieutenants had left, Alexios shut the door but stayed at its entrance, allowing his sister space to approach. 

She walked towards him on gingered legs, stumbling slightly in her hesitation. She let her eyes travel the length of him, beholding him truly for the first time since he’d found her in Argolis. 

_My fault, my fault, my fault._

She lightly touched his forehead, her cold hand welcoming the warmth his mind exuded. She knelt beside him, her knees collapsing to the deck but making no noise as she wept. She’d grown so used to needing to silence her tears that she barely made a noise. Whispers of apology and misery came out of her mouth and to his ear until eventually she was undone by his stone face. 

He didn’t react; he didn’t move except for a slight catch to his breathing. 

“I’m sorry, General. I failed you, I failed everyone. I wasn’t strong enough, and I’ve brought you misery in my wake. I couldn’t reach you in Argolis, I couldn’t return with you in Pylos, I was doing what I thought was best.”

Alexios forced himself to listen, but not interrupt. Every word she spoke had likely been spoken to her by the cult, been engrained in her soul for years of torture and testing. He locked them into his brain, letting them fester and galvanise his resolve.

Her hand moved from Brasidas’ head to the rags wrapped over his left arm, his writing arm. If he couldn’t write, then he couldn’t command. If he couldn’t command, then his value to Sparta was less and she had fulfilled the requirement that would placate the cult. But she knew they had meant her to kill him. It was a game, like the dice. _An insult if you lose._ If he’d raised his spear to her, then she may have let him end her pain, but he hadn’t. He’d just begged her to come back to him, begged her to be herself again.

_”Your hand would be the only one that I’d be glad to die by, because that would mean that I likely deserved death.”_

“I thought I could save you all,” she whispered.

Her hand didn’t linger on the cut, but instead moved to his fingers and crushed them in her grip, begging him to squeeze back. She rested her head on his chest to feel the movement beneath it, matching her breathing to his heartbeat. 

Minutes turned to hours as she sat, but his breathing stayed the same. She’d seen enough death and dying to know that he wasn’t getting worse, so he was likely getting better. And she knew where their ship head, and why it head there. It was towards the priests at Argolis and their healing, that Alexios placed his trust. 

But that was where she’d last seen him: whole, and sad, with his eyes focused on her scarred face and bloody hands. She’d ignored him then, pretended not to know him even though her heart burst at the sight of him. It took her strength to turn from him, rather than to run to him and beg him to save her. 

She’d thought that her pain was worth their safety, worth everything. If she, one person, could save all of those she held dear, wasn’t that worth it? It was the offer she’d received when she’d first met Kleon in chains: he would let them go, let them live, if she worked as the cult’s weapon. And she’d been their weapon, their knife in the field, weakening where they’d told her and strengthening where they’d told her. 

But now that she felt her love’s gentle breath under her hand, and she could feel the pain they’d all endured over the years without her, she wondered what her trade was at all.

_Alexios,_ she thought silently. _Alexios was the trade. Once she’d walked onto that beach, she knew her orders were to murder her General to save her brother._

It was an uncomfortable thought, but not one that she hadn’t considered. She knew Brasidas was too difficult for Athens to handle, and that they would call for his head eventually. And that she would be tasked with it. 

But she’d lost her resolve in the final minutes as his pleading met with his refusal to engage her. 

_Please, my love,_ he’d said. _Please come back to me._

The beat of his heart under her hand was safety. This was what the cult had told her they would destroy, but they’d never truly had the power. Now that she was back with her brother and her husband, she knew that she could never be parted from them again. 

\--------

The priests had come and gone, Alexios and Kassandra sequestering themselves in their cabin while Brasidas was treated. Neither of them wanted to risk the Cult’s weapon or Sparta’s King being seen, and the Adrestia could believably have been chartered by the Spartiates on board for their General in his need. 

“He’ll be ok, Kassandra.”

“These priests are quacks, Alexios.”

Alexios shook his head. “It’s not just priests in there. I sent word to Argos for Hyppocrates to meet us at port.”

She ignored his explanation. “How do you know he’ll be ok?”

“Because he’s survived worse.”

She was next to Brasidas when he woke, and had to see the fear in his eyes before they turned to disbelief. His mouth opened slowly, the same shock that was reflected in her father when she found him on the mountain in Megaris, so long ago. 

“Brasidas,” she whispered, stroking his hair slightly.

His eyes drank her in, soaking her lean face, the scarred lettering across her neck, the crop of hair that moved just beyond her forehead. 

“You’re here,” he whispered, unable to move his breath further than her face.

“I’m here,” she replied, kissing the hand she held. 

“The cult …”

She shook her head. “They promised me all of your safety if I did their work, but then they ordered your death and I-,” she choked in a slight sob, “-I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it, Brasidas.”

He shushed her slightly, unable to bear her sobs. He couldn’t take his eyes from her lest she flee like she had in his dreams. He tried to shift his arm, but pain shot through him at the stretch and he grimaced.

“Where are we?” he asked, sand caking his throat. He reached beyond her for the water cup, but frowned at the movement. She quickly turned and passed it to him.

“Argolis,” she replied softly. She felt as if anything louder would make his consciousness disappear, rendering her alone again.

“Argolis?” he asked in fear and surprise.

“Shh, it’s ok. The doctors treated you, but we stayed on the Adrestia.”

“Kassandra,” he whispered, trying to sit up. He flexed his hands and she could see the blood flow beneath his skin. “What happened?”

“I …” she started, breath escaping her. She looked down at his hands in hers, rubbing them between her calloused fingers. “I had to make a choice between keeping Alexios and Sparta safe, or sparing you-.”

“No, Kassandra,” he replied, bringing her hands to his lips. “I know the trade you made, but I also know that these impossible decisions aren’t yours. You aren’t the person they tried to make you into.”

She nodded. “I thought you would be angry with me.”

“My love, why would I be angry with you? Nothing you did was your own.”

“Because I failed everyone. Even when I was trying to keep you safe, they plotted your death.”

He smirked a little, eyes lit. “Then they’ve underestimated us, Kassandra. And I meant, what happened in Amphipolis?”

“Oh, Sparta lost only seven men. Athens lost seven hundred. After you … after you fell, Kleon of Athens shot me from behind and Alexios brought us onto the Adrestia.”

“Kleon? The Leader?”

“He’s the cultist who offered me your safety. He saw me fail, so took it into his own hands.”

He gulped, tears springing from him. “I was so worried about finding you, that it never occurred to me that I might lose you just as you were with us.”

“I’m here, we’re here,” she whispered. “Just, rest.” She tried to take her shaking hand out of his, but he held onto her fiercely. 

“No!” he coughed. “Please stay.”

She nodded, and they laid next to each other, her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat until they both fell asleep.


	25. Epidauros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexios takes a day trip.

“Heading back to Sparta, Barnabas,” Alexios called, rolling up his _periploi_ of the Peloponnese.

“Ahh, is Brasidas well enough to travel, then?” the captain asked.

“He is, and he can rest as we travel home. I’ve received letters from Amphipolis confirming Athens’ loss and their terms for peace.” He paused, thinking of the easy way that Athens had succumbed to Brasidas’ plan and their own incapacity. “I want Kassandra safe in Sparta before I make them. But I have a task to do here before we leave, I’ll be back by sundown.”

Barnabas nodded at him, a knowing look on his brow. “Something urgent, then?”

“You could say that.”

Alexios ventured underdeck, quickly poking his head into Brasidas’ cabin to check that they were both intact. He found that he couldn’t smile at the scene: them both together again. Instead he only saw his General’s wound and his sister’s scars. But they were sleeping, and hopefully they wouldn’t miss him. 

He walked around to his own cabin and retrieved his grandfather’s spear, leaving his cloak and his Agiad ring behind. No one knew him here; no one here would question him when he sidled past as a mere traveller. 

He left the ship as the mid morning sun warmed his skin, warning the Spartiates that lined the ship to be vigilant.

He started in the agora, listening to whispers and learning the voices that held power. He inspected the vegetables and the pottery, speaking to the merchants and asking them of the priests and their associations. A common thread met him: fear of a priestess who had scorched their fields at a word and broken their spirits with a wave. He knew this was the one: the one that Brasidas had suspected. The Chrysis that Kleon had muttered in his dying breaths. 

The one who tortured and broke Kassandra until she was merely a knife in the hands of her masters. 

Alexios moved towards the Sanctuary at Epidauros, his whispers sending him to a tongueless priest who had defied her in the past. He found him in a forest next to the sanctuary, picking yellow flowers.

“Chaire, friend,” Alexios called, false scrolls in his hand. 

The priest smiled at him, no recognition lighting his features. 

“I was wondering if you could help me? My sister, she came through here months ago with a baby who died. She can’t sleep because she thinks he’ll be left unburied and unable to pass into Hades. Would you know where I could find the priestess who took him from her? I can pay.” 

The man groaned at him, and indicated that he couldn’t speak.

“That’s ok, friend,” Alexios replied. “Just an indication of where she would be?”

The man looked at him, trouble brewing behind his eyes. Alexios knew he was being assessed, and placed the sadness that had dogged him for years directly onto his face, hoping it would fool him. 

The man pointed his bouquet of flowers towards a hill south east of where they stood, a stone buff jarring it against the grass.

“Thank you, friend,” Alexios whispered, offering coins to the man. But he refused, instead giving Alexios the yellow flowers he’d picked. The man then nodded at him, and walked away towards the sanctuary. 

Alexios put the flowers into his satchel, and started running towards the bluff. The sky was darkening, and he knew that it was the annointed time for Hera’s prayers. He approached quietly, listening for the humming that welcomed the Goddess’ sacrifices. 

A wail made his step falter, and he edged around a wall to watch the temple. A woman stood within it, crying toddler in arms, singing a lullaby that Alexios didn’t recognise. He hesitated, and watched as the priestess’ voice grew shriller and she produced a knife, holding it over the child’s face.

His breath caught, and he cursed himself for leaving his bow on the ship. 

“Priestess!” he called, surprise emanating through his voice. He saw her drop the knife from his sight, her singing ceased.

“Do you seek the prayers of Hera, child?” she called, rocking the child slightly.

“I seek my sister,” he said, mustering calm. He walked towards her, close enough to see the child in her arms and the blood upon his cheek. He was grubby, his hair curly and black, and his eyes grey. They were rimmed with terror, but he wasn’t looking at Alexios, but rather to where the knife had disappeared. “Please, let me,” he said, gesturing for her to pass him the still screaming child. 

She curled the boy towards her, looking Alexios up and down. The child continued to scream, filling the plateau with a sound Alexios hated to hear. 

“Let me,” he said, his voice cracking a little in the lie. “It’s not been long since my own nephew died, I just long to hold an infant again, praise Hera.”

“Children are only as strong as we make them,” she replied, wiping the baby’s face free of blood. Then she passed him the still screaming child, and he held the little weight in his arms as the boy clung to his neck. He knew children of the same age: his men’s children and those he hoped would bring philosophy to Sparta. And he knew that they never clung to strangers. 

“What happened to his mother?” Alexios asked quietly, abating the fury that lay just beneath. 

“His mother abandoned him here, instead seeking her own pleasures.” Her voice sent a shiver down his spine. 

Alexios took a step away from her, eyes straying to the cut made to the baby’s cheek. 

_Lambda._ Sparta’s symbol. The same symbol cut into Kassandra’s skin. The same symbol cut into his own.

He started humming the Spartan lullaby, the one that he’d grown up listening to; the one that Brasidas had heard his sister sing when he’d discovered her. His humming grew louder, letting the space be filled with his voice. He looked at the boy as he sung, producing the rhythm in a calming regularity. 

Then his eyes turned to Chrysis, for this was the cultist woman who had claimed him in Delphi, and the one who had produced horror in his sister.

“Your work here is done,” he muttered. “You will hurt no others.”

“Ahh,” she replied. “But if I die, my children die with me.”

Alexios pushed the boy’s head into his shoulder, blocking his eyes, and unsheathed his sister’s spear.

He moved before she could scream, drawing the spear across her neck, so deep that she couldn’t make a sound. He looked down at the child as she fell and hummed the lullaby, refusing to give Chrysis any human emotion while she died. 

He was no longer shy of the cult; no longer shy of killing them. Where once he would vomit after death, now his drive to be free of them and protect his own wrought an iron out of him that he had denied to exist. He was no longer a boy with a ranged weapon, but a man with an army.

He continued to hum the lullaby to the child until he calmed, his face no longer weeping at the cut and his brow relaxed into trust. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and Alexios had told Barnabas that he would return before the sun set, but there was a little more to be done. 

Still singing and holding the child to him, he wiped his spear on the grass and sheathed it. Then he searched both the temple and Chrysis for clues as to the rest of the cult. He found enough information to sink a few of them, perhaps even figure out who was at the top using the information Kassandra no doubt had. 

But he also had to figure out what to do with the boy. He had fallen asleep as Alexios sang, and he wrapped him in his linen cloak. His cheek has stopped bleeding, and Alexios kissed it lightly. 

He started walking back towards the sanctuary, hoping that they had information that would lead to his mother. If he was being cut with _lambda_, then he may have a Spartan connection that Alexios could explore. He continued to hum, and transferred the bundle so he slept on his shoulder and his scar was hidden.

“Chaire,” he said to the first priest he came across, a younger man in an almost new chiton. “I found this child in the hills, in one of the temples.”

The priest’s fear lighted in his eyes, and he put his hands up in front of him. “Then you must put him back, he’s one of Hera’s.”

“There was no one around,” Alexios lied, letting his voice rumble. “Surely you must take him.”

The priest shook his head. “All children go to Hera, Chrysis insists.”

Alexios lost his temper, his voice becoming low and deadly. “Chrysis is dead, now tell me where to take the child.”

The priest looked between him and the boy, confused. “If the priestess is dead, then there is nowhere for the child to go.”

“What do you mean?” 

“The children were only here because she funded and taught them. The Sanctuary can’t afford to keep them if she is no longer their benefactor.”

“You mean that you will cast them out?”

“Yes, we can’t feed them, let alone house and clothe them,” he said desperately. “Please, we’re on charity ourselves.”

Alexios shifted the weight in his arms, and felt the tiny breaths move from his collarbone to his neck.

“Where did Chrysis keep them?” he asked.

“Down by the water,” the man answered, pointing towards a run down building about half a mile away.

Alexios dropped a coin at his feet, and started walking. 

\--------

It was worse than he’d feared.

There were ten or so children here, some younger than the sleeping boy he held in his arms, others old enough to be through the second wave of the agoge. Children with lice, children with scars, children with grime.

He stood at the door and looked into the din, the braziers not lit down this far. He stopped one child who looked to be close to twelve years old, touching their arm slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, kneeling down to the child’s level. “But which of you is the eldest?”

The child pointed down the hall to an older teenager who was shushing some younger children to sleep. Alexios thanked his helper, and passed him a small coin. 

“Chaire,” he said to the girl once she’d noticed him. She walked towards him carefully, bright eyes on the boy in his arms. 

“Aegis?” she whispered, gently pulling back the young boy’s hair to reveal his new mark, her eyes darkening when she saw the _lambda_. She gestured to Alexios to release the boy to her, but he held him closer, refusing to relinquish him. The teenager dropped her arms. “Who are you?”

“The West Wind,” he replied quietly.

Recognition lit behind her eyes. 

“Like Kassandra,” she whispered. 

“You knew Kassandra?” 

“Yes, she was here before they moved her. She took care of us, tried to help our wounds heal without scarring, took our beatings.”

They were attracting the attention of some of the younger children now, curious about the low voices in the low light. 

“I’m her brother, and I’m here to…” he hesitated. 

_What was he here to do?_

“I’m here to bring you to Sparta, and safety, if it’s what you want.” He let his voice grow as he said it, filling the dirty room.

The teenager cocked her eyebrow. “What power do you have in Sparta, that Kosmos could not challenge?” she asked, her hand moving to her heart.

“Enough to keep you safe,” he replied.

“Safety is a myth,” she said. “They train us to be their heritage, their scions, then cut our skin so our cities can claim us from the other side of the field as we bathe in our countrymen’s blood. We’re never safe.”

“They cut you with the sign of your city?”

She pulled back the cloth from her neck and revealed the _koppa_ etched into dark her skin. Alexios had to refrain from touching it.

“So close to home, but unable to escape,” she said.

“Sparta will accept you and I can grant you passage back to Korinthia.” He spoke quickly, time running away from him. “If you want to come, then come quickly. News of Chrysis’ death will-.”

“Chrysis is dead?” she asked, her hand moving to her mouth. 

“Yes, Chrysis is dead,” Alexios confirmed. 

She took only a moment’s hesitation before waking the children she had just put to sleep, and hushing the ones still awake. 

“But I’m scared!” one said.

“But I’m hungry!” said another.

“But my feet are still bloody and I can’t walk!” said another.

“Wait here,” Alexios said to her as she organised the children. He hadn’t let go of the boy, _Aegis_, and he was still sleeping soundly in his arms. He walked back to the sanctuary, and dropped his coin purse at the feet of the priest. “I need a cart and horses.”

The priest’s eyes blew wide at the amount of money just gifted to him, and he quickly granted the order. Alexios stopped short of asking him to fill it with food, knowing how much longer it would take. 

_This was mad,_ he thought. 

Not only was he late to the Adrestia and was delaying their leaving Argolis, which wasn’t safe for either his sister or her husband, but he was going to turn up to the ship with ten extra people. Children, no less. 

But then he thought to the lambda currently cut into Aegis’ cheek, the same as was cut into his sister and himself. He thought of the fear and dread reflected in the faces of the children as they stared at him in the dark. He thought of Chrysis, holding the knife above her charge and bringing it down while singing her torturous song. 

What would they be if he left them here? What would he be?

He brought the horses to the room, and directed the children to sit inside the cart, bringing whatever they wanted with them. 

“It’s not far,” he told the teenager once they were almost organised. “I have a ship docked in Epidauros.”

She nodded, then looked at him with eyes beyond her years. “So are you Alexios, or Brasidas?”

“Alexios,” he replied as he felt a chill go down his spine.

She nodded, as if her suspicions were confirmed. “Those were the names Kassandra screamed in her dreams. She never told me who they were.”

“What’s your name?”

“Nike.” _Victory._

“Thank you for your help, Nike.”

She nodded to him, then made her way into the cart with the younger ones clutching to her. Alexios walked the horses towards the Adrestia, and the children of Kosmos towards Sparta.

\--------

“So, ahh, we may have to stop for more drinking water soon,” Barnabas chimed, looking onto the deck as multiple bodies slept in the daybreak sun.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Alexios said quietly. “The priest said he would turn them out.”

“Oh, no, no, I’d never question your decisions, Alexios. It’s more … surprising, that’s all. Have you told Kassandra yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, I’ll make heading to Sparta. I’ll leave the administration and promises to you.”

“Thanks, Barnabas.”

Alexios walked below deck, where the younger children were sleeping safely, each with a Spartiate tasked with ensuring they didn’t go overboard. Many of them were fathers themselves, and took to the role with a vigour that could only be explained by homesickness. 

He went to Brasidas’ cabin, and knocked lightly. 

“King?” Brasidas answered, standing to open the door. 

“Brasidas,” Alexios said. “Good to see you up.”

“Yes, well, I figured that I’d slept long enough.” He looked over at the bed, and Alexios followed his gaze to his sleeping sister. “But what was that racket?”

Alexios hesitated as he put his hands behind his back. “Ahhhhhh, children.”

Brasidas didn’t smile, his voice deadpan. “What do you mean, children?”

“I mean, I rescued ten cultist children.”

Brasidas cocked his eyebrow, and Alexios’ mouth twisted slightly. 

“You rescued ten cultist children. From the cult. That’s where you disappeared last night. To rescue children.”

“Well, first I rescued one child, Aegis, then the rest kind of snowballed.”

“Did you sing as you led them from Argos?”

“No, I sang while I led them from the sanctuary.”

“Alexios.”

“What?”

“That’s mad! That’s what.”

“You sound like Stentor.”

“And it’s what he’ll say when we turn up to Sparta with ten cultist children.”

“I couldn’t leave them, especially after I killed their benefactor.”

Brasidas’ hand reached his eyes and stayed there until laughter shook him. He clutched his wound, trying to prevent it opening while he guffawed.

“I’m your King, I hope you’ll remember that as you laugh at me,” Alexios said, grin on his face. 

“You’re a mess, Alexios,” Brasidas chimed, clapping him on the shoulder. “So what are we to do with these children? Helots? Perioeci?”

“No, I was actually going to enter the boys into the agoge and the girls into adoptive households, as citizens.”

“Archidamos will hate you for it.”

“Is he still King?”

“I’ve missed this Alexios, the one who flagrantly makes a joke of tradition. I’m glad he’s back.”

Alexios smirked, then looked behind the General to find his sister awake. Her eyes were brighter than he’d seen them in years, and he didn’t think it was only sleep that had done it. 

“You rescued the children from Epidauros Sanctuary?” she whispered, her face close to beaming.

Alexios looked at Brasidas, and nodded gingerly. 

“Nike?” Kassandra asked, her eyes burning with hope. 

“She’s on deck,” Alexios replied. 

“And Chrysis?”

“Dead in Hera’s Temple.”

Kassandra nodded then rose from the bed, clutching Brasidas’ crimson around her shoulders. She walked passed them and continued up onto the deck. Alexios and Brasidas followed her, with Aegis reaching for Alexios as he walked passed his allotted sleepy Spartiate. He watched Kassandra fall to her knees as she clutched the children and Nike to her, their tears wetting the salted deck. Relief of bounded grief torn asunder.

If their quest to destroy the cult had meant anything, it was simply to have let their darkness not intrude on the innocence of those more vulnerable than they were. If Kosmos was to be destroyed, this had to be why: so they couldn’t destroy any more children or any more families. 

Kassandra wept as they clutched to her, them all free, finally, from knives and pain. And better yet, they were headed to safety. 

Alexios was determined to guarantee it.


	26. Sparta pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An acclimatisation to Sparta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi, Nike is pronounced like Nicky, rather than like the shoe :).

It was quiet on the mountain. Before the birds spoke their song, before the sun met the Ionian, before anyone would think to look for her here. She came here to think, mostly. She used to come here to beg, to plead for the images to stop and to close her mind’s eye to the things she’d inflicted. To beg the mountain to forgive her of her bloody hands, and to scream herself hoarse like she used to do on the mount outside of their shack on Kephallonia. 

So long ago, the years stretched between the girl she thought she was, and the woman she’d been forced into. A shell that she’d filled unwillingly, hard edges and harsh cracks. Cutting, jeering, lending her hands to forces that she’d been powerless to resist.

She didn’t think the mountain forgave her, but instead, she’d removed its power to, which was essentially the same thing. The image her city held of her wasn’t her responsibility anymore. 

But, still, she sat there, fingers on stone and legs crushed to the cold. If this was to be her place within the cosmos, then at least she could dim the creep within her chest that told her that she didn’t belong, that she’d never belong - that it was all a ruse. 

Rustling behind her stopped her fingers drumming on the sacred stones, and she turned to see who’d come to find her this time. It was like guessing which star would appear first in the sky. Most of the time it was Brasidas, but sometimes Alexios sought her out. Kassandra swore that whenever she left her bed, her family thought she’d gone forever. But, she supposed, they had good reason to believe it.

“Nike,” she greeted the teenager. She’d bloomed since she’d arrived with them three months ago. Literacy and autonomy suited her, as did the fresh diet and rigorous exercise.

“West Wind,” she replied, sitting down on the ledge. 

“Kassandra,” she corrected. No more mercenaries, no more contracts. Just _Kassandra_.

“Kassandra,” Nike repeated. “Have you been up here long?”

“Just long enough to feel the cold.” She shifted slightly, draping her husband’s crimson cloak that had pooled at her hips over the both of them, resting their shoulders together. 

“Why do you come up here?” Nike asked after a moment, more directly than the others would have.

“To speak to Ares, and ask him if the blood was worth it.”

“What does he say?”

Kassandra sighed, and shook her head in reply.

“Your brother says that you come here to pray, but I know he doesn’t believe in the Gods himself, so I’m not sure what he means.”

“Impiety could get him killed,” Kassandra muttered, looking to the lightening sky. “Every King believes in the Gods.”

“I still hardly believe that he’s King.”

“Neither do I. When he was a child, he was so worried about people liking him. Once I broke up a dangerous game where he and his entourage tried to steal fruit from the local menace, and he barely forgave me. He was so worried that it would mean that they wouldn’t listen to him anymore.” Kassandra sighed, a slight nostalgic whimsy overtaking her. “He was wrong, of course. He held that island in the palm of his hand.”

Nike smiled, leaning into Kassandra’s shoulder. 

Kassandra had insisted on her joining their household, and Brasidas hadn’t argued. His house was in complete disarray when they’d returned because of the need for him to quickly head north with his helots. It had been sealed for the months he’d been in Thrake, dust and vermin collecting. Once Alexios had stretched his power to the city’s forgiveness of Kassandra, Archidamos had relented so long as she remained under her husband’s protection. She’d not been stripped of citizenship, there were too few Agaids remaining for that, but she’d stayed home for the most part. Except her walks to Taygetos, the night air cooling the sweat of her night terrors. Nike had wanted to remain with her, and she’d been welcome company. As her diet improved, she became stronger and healthier, looking all of her eighteen years. Kassandra could hardly believe that this was the same girl who she had tried to protect in the Sanctuary. Her lessons in literacy, numeracy, and geometry were distracting for them both and the quiet in which they spread themselves calmed both their nerves and their minds. Nike barely cried out at night, anymore. 

But beneath the quiet was a rumble, not one that Alexios made Kassandra privy to. Whispers and conversations cut short between her brother and his spies, and papers that were kept under lock and key.

Alexios had taken on Aegis, and the child had attached himself confidently to the King. He followed him everywhere, hand in hand, as Alexios relaxed into his role. 

Kassandra smiled at the thought. Though there was no physical resemblance, the boy reminded her of the insistent mischief that Alexios had brewed at the same age. He always had an apple or cake in his hand, munching and pointing and laughing. But he’d grown too, and his skin had lost its pallor as he learnt his words and his songs. Like Alexios, the story of Skamandros was his favourite.

Nike remained the children’s anchors in their new city, solidifying them: their link to their former life. None of them wanted to be separated, and none of them wanted to be returned to the cities that corresponded to the marks cut into their skin. 

“Come on,” Kassandra said. The sun was beginning to rise. “Let’s go and buy Brasidas some eggs so he can make us breakfast.”

Nike laughed, still so unused to being served. But Kassandra left the crimson draped around the girl, and watched as the sun’s rays made her glow.

\--------

Kassandra spread herself between her own home and Alexios’. She rarely returned to her parent’s house, their stiff demeanour with her being equal measures startling and saddening. She knew that they would never forgive her of the things she did while with the cult, but the hooded way they spoke to her left no doubt that they had no intention of even trying. She didn’t understand it: had they not also succumbed to the cult? And for less noble reasons. Even Stentor could place her beyond what she’d done.

She walked to Alexios’ house in bare feet and a light blue chiton. She had made honey cakes for Aegis, and had a few scrolls for her brother.

She knocked lightly on the open door frame and let herself in.

“The Athens’ agora, south: near the mint,” she heard her brother say. Kassandra froze.

“And payment?” a stranger replied.

“A thousand. Find the old man near the acropolis and he’ll reward them.”

“Thank you, King.”

A shuffle, then the rustle of papers being sorted and shut into a drawer. Kassandra was glued to her position and met her brother’s eyes as he walked from his study. They blew wide, as though caught in a lie. She stared him down in the same way she used to when he was a boy, and he was momentarily transported back to the eight year old who’d traded oranges for kindness. 

“How much did you hear?” he asked quickly, giving up any pretence.

“Nyx is dangerous,” Kassandra whispered. “She won’t be easily killed.”

Alexios sighed, and opened his hands to take her basket of honey cakes. “She has to be killed eventually, and that spy is the best we have.”

“Then you’re wasting your best.”

“Kass, I won’t risk any of them living. And I won’t be chastised for it.”

“Don’t use your _King_ voice with me,” she replied dismissively. “Nyx isn’t even close to the top, she was under Chrysis.”

“Chrysis is dead, their sages are dead, and Nyx has filled that void. She will have the last clue so I can confirm the identity of the one they refer to as the Ghost.”

“Alexios, it’s dangerous.”

“What’s dangerous?” Nike called from the yard, Aegis’ squeals almost drowning her out.

Alexios’ eyes darted between the open door and Kassandra. “Don’t tell her,” he whispered quickly. “I don’t want anything to interrupt her perception of safety.”

“Is that because it's false?” Kassandra whispered back harshly.

“This is how we make her safe, make all of them safe,” he muttered, temper rumbling. 

“I can still hear your whispering even if I can’t hear the words,” Nike called again, finally poking her head through the door. She let Aegis go, and he ran directly to Alexios who scooped him up in his arms, preventing Kassandra’s further protestations. 

“What were you muttering about, anyway?” Nike asked, taking a honeycake from the basket that Alexios still held.

“Nothing,” the siblings replied in unison, earning a cocked eyebrow from her. 

“Okay,” she said slowly. Kassandra rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Aegis who was pulling on her chiton. She took him from her brother.

“Who wants to go and feed the horses?”she said in a sing song voice to his excited clapping and nodding. She pierced her brother with a parting glance, and took the boy down the field. 

“I have these workings for you, _King_,” Nike said.

He took the scroll from her. “I’ve told you before, don’t call me King.” 

“Okay, _Agiad_.” There was a light teasing in her voice, and Alexios dismissed it with a wave of his hand. He’d been teaching her politics as his mother had taught him, and she had a knack for it. 

“No, this won’t do,” he said quietly. It was a trial, a balance of probabilities of two opposing lobbies with differing powers. The one with power asked for something that would cause a social cost to the city, the one without power asked for something that would not. He'd tasked Nike with finding a solution. “You haven’t accounted for the assembly,” he said, handing it back to her. 

She took it from him, her eyes darkening slightly. “You’re as bad as Brasidas with details.”

“It’s how I became your King,” he quipped, smirking.

“Have many of your subjects seen you with cake on your face?” she asked, pointing to her own face to indicate where a crumb lay on his.

“Just the one.” 

Their eyes met for a moment of recognition, before Alexios broke the tension. 

“How are the rest of the children?” he asked, picking another cake from the basket. 

“They’re managing,” she replied. “They still have nightmares. But you chose the right families for them: they’re bringing comfort and stability that hopefully will make them, well, _okay_, as they get older.”

“And in their studies?”

“Learning to read is difficult for anyone. Did Kassandra teach you?”

“Yes, I had to have finished my letters and songs before she returned from her working day. And I usually had a bunch of flowers for her when she returned, something small I could give her.” His voice had started almost joyous, remembering the definitive way his sister had taught him to read and write. But then it had turned sad in remembering the yellow flowered field next to their house, and how, even now, the offering pales.

Nike put her hand on his arm, covering one of his scars. “For what it’s worth,” she said softly. “I think she knows that you attribute yourself to her.”

Alexios shook his head slightly. “I don’t feel like I could ever express the gravity of it.”

“You express it in every action, Alexios. In every whim.”

“You sound like her,” he said, smiling slightly.

“I may as well,” she smiled back at him. “She took enough beatings for me.”

Alexios reached out, his hand pushing her hair beyond her shoulder so he could see the _koppa_ etched into the skin of her neck. He rubbed his thumb over it gently, cupping her neck slightly. 

“You’re safe here, I promise,” he said.

“You can’t promise that, even as a King.”

“Then I promise it as a friend,” he replied. 

\--------

It was mid winter, a year since Amphipolis. Kassandra was bringing water into the outdoor basin when she saw the brazier lit in the second room, sending light across the walls of their home. She listened, an interloper on small, gentle encouragement, and the eternal struggle with new geometric concepts. 

“No, not quite,” Brasidas said softly.

“Why? Why, ‘not quite’?” Nike said, frustrated, but attempting to mimic his warm tone.

“Because the opposing angles are marked incorrectly. There: alpha here, beta here. See how the lines intersect.”

“No, I don’t see. They’re just lines.”

“They’re lines that mark our temples and our fields. Your plot of land soon becomes your neighbour’s if you let him misdraw that line.”

“Brasidas, can we please have a break. I’m tired.”

“Of course, Nike. We can return to it when you’re ready.”

Kassandra poked her head through the door and caught his eye, his face voicing the frustration that his mouth had refused to. He packed up the scrolls and wax tablets, and placed them away into their boxes. 

“I was going to go to Alexios’ and take him some of the leftover lamb,” Kassandra asked. “Did you want to come with me?”

“No, thank you, my love. I have some correspondence to write.”

Pain moved across her face as her heart contracted. A whisper tore through her, the one she thought she’d discarded on the mountain: _my fault, my fault._

It passed, as it always did when he made no mention of his difficulty and her infliction of it.

“Nike?” Kassandra asked, slightly choked.

“It would be good to check on Aegis,” she said, stretching her arms out. “Last I saw him, his hair was long enough to cover his face.”

Kassandra nodded, and left them to prepare the lamb.

“Nike,” she heard Brasidas say warmly. “You’re a citizen now, and that comes with certain, ah, effects.”

Kassandra froze, the lamb halfway out of the pot. She knew what Nike becoming a part of their household meant, and what it meant for Brasidas. But she hadn’t really thought of it yet, hadn’t thought that _he’d_ thought of it yet, at least. 

“What do you mean?” Nike replied, hesitant and suspicious. She trusted Brasidas, loved him as a father, but anyone would freeze at such a conversation.

“I mean that, ah, not to place myself above you in any sense, but the barracks considers me ah-”

“_Kurios_?” Nike ventured slowly.

“No, no,” Brasidas dismissed. “It doesn’t work like that here. And in a household with both Kassandra and you in it, I’d be the least likely _kurios_.” Brasidas laughed, but it was the short jaunt that betrayed his discomfort. 

Kassandra finally took pity on him. She placed the lamb into the pot and returned her head to the room.

“Nike, he’s trying to tell you that you can expect offers of marriage soon, as you’re close to nineteen. They will come to him first, as your father figure, and he will pass them along to you to consider. And they are yours to consider, not ours. That’s all.” Kassandra gave a small smile to her flailing husband. “Now, this lamb won’t deliver itself.”

Nike was quiet as they walked. Alexios wasn’t home, and a helot told them that he was at their parent’s house. Kassandra swore under her breath, hating to go there, but they started walking anyway.

“Kassandra?” Nike asked softly. “Can I really marry whoever I want?”

Kassandra didn’t answer right away, because she truthfully didn’t know. “Alexios bent the rules for you regarding citizenship. Usually Spartans are only citizens if they’re descended from the original conquering force. But he made you Spartan, so I don’t know.” She looked at her through the side of her eye. “Why, is there someo-.”

“No, no,” Nike quickly said. “It’s just, different, here.”

Kassandra nodded to her as she knocked on her parents’ door, quietly steeling herself for engulfing tradition. 

Nikolaos opened the door. 

“Pater,” Kassandra greeted, trying and failing to push warmth into her voice.

“Kassandra,” he greeted in return. “And Nike. Walking after sunset, without escort?”

“Yes, pater,” Kassandra breathed out. “The helots cooked too much lamb, and we wanted to share.” Her father took a breath through his nose, looking into the pot.

“Oh, pater, let them out of the cold already!” Alexios called from the dining table. 

Her father moved, and they slid passed him. 

“Alexios, mater,” Kassandra said, hugging her mother. “You can never have too much lamb,” she said, indicating to the pot. Alexios gestured to Aegis, curled in his lap, to explain his lack of greeting. 

“Very true, Kassandra,” Myrrine said. “Nike, your hair has grown beautifully. Olive oil?”

“Yes, like you suggested,” Nike said, eyes to the floor. Myrrine touched her chin lightly, bringing her eyes up. 

“We don’t look at the floor, lamb,” she said, knowing smile on her face. “Now, tell me about your day.”

“Brasidas is teaching me about lines and angles,” Nike offered. 

“Corresponding angles,” Kassandra said, sitting next to her brother and stroking Aegis’ hair. 

“Why?” Nikolaos asked. “Why would you need it?”

Nike opened her mouth nervously before answering. “Because it may give my neighbour an uneven share if the angles are drawn incorrectly.”

“No, you misunderstand me. Why would _you_ need it.”

“Pater…” Alexios warned. 

Nikolaos’ eyes left her face, and moved to his son’s. “I know that our traditions mean nothing to you, King, but they’ve been ours for hundreds of years.”

“I think you’ve had too much wine, pater,” Alexios rumbled. 

“Perhaps,” Nikolaos replied, looking down to his splayed hands. “Forgive me, Nike. I misspoke.”

Nike looked terrified, and Kassandra took her hand while sharing a look with her brother. Alexios’ tension was dripping, and the mood woke the boy in his lap.

“Pata,” Aegis said quietly, Alexios’ cloak held tightly in his hand. Alexios hushed him back to sleep as Kassandra continued to stroke his hair.

But it was unmistakable, and worse yet, his parents had heard it.

“He calls you pater?” Nikolaos asked, breathless.

Alexios didn’t answer right away, but instead looked down at the boy. “Yes.”

“But he’s not Agiad, he can never succeed you,” Myrrine said, her voice more measured than her husband’s. 

“I don’t expect him to,” Alexios replied. 

Kassandra’s hand was being squeezed by Nike as she looked between Alexios and his parents. 

“Do you understand the position you put the boy in?” Nikolaos wasn’t shouting, but the strain in his neck betrayed his wanting to. “Do you understand that he will never belong, either as a member of the family, or as the outcast ward of a King?” 

“Who calls him an outcast?” Alexios asked openly.

NIkolaos puffed a few times. “He will have blooded brothers who will be separate from him, who will have a place above him. What of that?”

“I will not raise my sons to ignore or outcast their brother, if that’s your implication.” Alexios was furious, but had engaged in enough bouts with cranky old men to weather this one, too. 

“But he’s not Agiad,” Myrrine said again.

“Neither was I until seven years ago, but here I am as your King.”

Alexios stood, moving Aegis’ head to his shoulder and wrapping him in his crimson. “Thank you for the wine, mater and pater. I hope that you never voice these concerns again, but I stop short of ordering you to do so, despite it being my right. I will see you at the agoge tomorrow, pater. I’ll see you soon, mater.” And he swept out of the room, his son on his chest.

Nike’s eyes followed him, but she dared not move.

“You should temper yourselves,” Kassandra said. 

“Strange,” Nikolaos said. “I used to offer the same advice to you, Kassandra.”

Kassandra nodded, and pulled Nike out of the house behind her. 

“Brother!” Kassandra yelled. “Brother, wait!”

He turned and faced her, his eyes murderous. Aegis was awake now, frightened of the swift movements that took him from the warm fire to the cool night.

“How dare they,” he muttered. “How dare they talk of tradition.”

“I know,” Kassandra said. “I know, Alexios.”

“And I know Aegis won’t succeed! I know how important blood is to this city! I’ve bled for it more than once.”

“Alexios, I know.”

“And they say his brothers will reject him! As if I would allow that.”

Nike walked up to him and stroked Aegis’ sleepy face, moving his curls behind his ears. She hooked her arm under his legs, catching Alexios’ chiton slightly, and pulled the boy towards her, his head resting easily on her collarbone. 

“We know your parents are wrong, Alexios,” she said. “Why does it matter?”

He released a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Because they’re right,” he said. “Aegis will be separate from the others, he’ll be the eldest but different, always.”

“Then teach him accordingly,” Nike replied. “Teach him to be their advisor, to be their anchor in a world that seeks to tear at their family.”

She gave him a small smile, then started walking along the path towards his home, Aegis in her arms. He watched her go, as Kassandra watched him.

\--------

Later, after Nike had successfully chastised Alexios for letting Aegis kick his blankets off, and they’d returned home, Kassandra lay next to Brasidas in their bed, tracing the scars she had left.

He murmured, close to sleep. “If you apologise again, I might just cut the arm off.”

“I wasn’t going to apologise,” she lied, moving her hand instead to his chest. “I think you successfully frightened Nike, though.”

He hummed in agreement. “I didn’t want her to be surprised by some runabout Spartiate’s offer, that’s all.”

“I think a runabout Spartiate is the least of your concerns,” Kassandra replied. 

“Someone has already made an offer,” he replied. “Today. They were impressed by her spearwork, apparently.”

Kassandra sat up, her short hair tumbling over her shoulders. “Who?”

Brasidas’ eyes were still closed, and he ignored her tone. “Anatolios. His father was one of the men who accompanied us from Amphipolis. But,” he opened one eye to look at her, then closed it again, “if you think him unsuitable, we can reject the offer, with her consent, of course.”

“Yes, I think so,” Kassandra said, laying back down. “But I understand now why you brought it up tonight.”

He hummed in agreement again, and drew her to him, falling almost immediately to sleep.

\--------

Alexios waited until his sister and Nike were gone, and Aegis was sleeping soundly, before retrieving his work from its drawer. Nyx had been killed by his network, outsourcing the work to an aspiring mercenary to remove any signature of Sparta in the killing. Their peace with Athens was current, but would shatter upon Spartan spies killing an Athenian in their agora.

One at least remained. _The Ghost_. 

His skin crawled as he remembered how smart he’d thought he was, how good he’d thought he was at seeing through manipulation and lies. How cultists had moved among himself and his sister, watching, waiting, striking. 

_Aspasia._

He likely wouldn’t see her again, despite his assurances to her that he would. He’d been seventeen, a child among men who thought they could fool him. 

_But they had,_ he thought. _You ate their rhetoric and philosophy for breakfast and regurgitated it into Sparta._

He wouldn’t sully his hands with the blood of Perikles’ wife, diminished though she was. Her movements through Attika were haphazard and directionless. She’d lost. Her plans for the control of Hellas had disappeared, and with her head, Kosmos would be gone. 

A cry erupted from the adjacent room: Aegis’ night terrors. Alexios placed his scrolls into his drawer before locking it, and swooped into the bedroom. 

He hushed the boy, knowing better than to wake him. He just held him to his chest, humming like he’d done every night since Argolis. Aegis didn’t remember anything in the morning, and the terrors were abating as he got older. 

They were almost safe. Corruption would always threaten, but he could keep it out of his city, at least.


	27. War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparta reminds its King what is at its heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last chapter is really long, and bitter-sweet, sorry!

Alexios had never been one for tradition, but he was likely more averse to forcing people to subscribe to it, than the practices themselves.

Take the festival of Gymnopaedia, for instance. He loved the flowers and the songs; loved the theatricality and the joy; but hated that there were distinctions as to who had to participate. So, rather than brashly change it, or grin and bear it, he shifted it slightly. Created more events for the helots. Moved the dancing to an earlier time so more women could participate, but those that didn’t want to had excuses at their disposal. 

And he’d ordered more yellow flowers, but that was neither here nor there. 

This was a unique Gymnopaedia, anyway, because Agis had just succeeded his father, the cranky old bastard that was Archidamos. Alexios had worked with him in the agoge under the careful tuition of Brasidas, learning that their strengths were complementary. Now that he’d been crowned, Alexios welcomed his friend as someone who could further his ideas modernising Sparta. Because what was the point of having two Kings, both in their mid-twenties, if they weren’t going to propel their city into the future?

His mind turned back to Gymnopaedia. Festival of youth, or, more specifically, festival of naked youth. Growing up away from the city, he found himself shifting slightly in his seat (and in his chiton) when this part of Sparta’s pride was on display. Another reason he thanked the Gods for Agis: he could adjudicate on those sections without Alexios needing to embarrass himself for being a prude. 

Though many of the activities were _gymnos_, most had the chitons that Spartans favoured in summer. 

Alexios was sitting on his front step on the second day of the festival, carving a small horse when Aegis sped out around him, making him nick a place in the wood that he deeply wished he hadn’t.

“Be careful, Aegis,” he called, looking at the cut. 

“Sorry, pater,” Aegis called, already out onto the road. He wore no sandals, wanting to prepare his feet for when he entered the agoge in a year’s time. The ones Alexios had bought for him sat unbroken in on his shelf, the leather worth more than all of his chitons combined. 

Alexios had wanted a small moment of peace before he had to go and watch the dancing. Myrrine was pestering him. _Wasn’t that why they had the dancing in the first place?_ she’d said. _To make offers to fathers? If not now, then when?_

At least she wasn’t pestering him about children, like she was pestering Kassandra.

He huffed, tossing the wood onto the table and putting the knife in its place on top of a cupboard. He would just wear what he had on to the dancing, stopping at Kassandra’s on the way there. She only attended the wives’ dinners, weathering the looks she still sometimes received, and the songs, a comforting spectre of her culture still intact. 

But, probably most importantly for Alexios, she didn’t mention the dancing whenever she got a chance. 

“Aegis!” Alexios roared, throwing his voice down the road.

“What?” Aegis yelled back.

“I’m going to Kassandra’s, please be at the King’s dinner later!”

“Okay!”

“Stentor can take you!”

“O-KAY!” Aegis yelled back with frustration. 

Gods, he reminded Alexios of himself. 

As Alexios walked along the road to his sister’s, he collected the yellow flowers that grew there in their thousands. But he also added some blue ones, knowing Nike liked them.

It was still their shared house, after all. The flowers weren’t only for Kassandra, but for the house.

He knocked three times, and Brasidas opened the door.

“King,” he greeted, smiling easily. 

“General,” Alexios returned. 

“Sorry to run, but I have to adjudicate some task or another, Agis tells me. Sent me the messenger this morning. You’ll be at the dancing?”

“I have to be, remember.”

“I think you might enjoy it this year,” he quipped as he put his cloak on. His brother in law clapped him on the shoulder and looked happily at him. “See you later.”

Alexios nodded and walked to the table, putting the flowers down and reaching under the cupboards for a suitable pot to put them in. He was being purposefully noisy, having startled his sister more than once when he’d been let in by her husband.

“Alexios!” she called as she bustled into the room, bread under her arm. “Shouldn’t you be seated in front of your people by now?”

“No, not yet. Agis is taking the morning and I’m taking the afternoon. Well, he’s taking the afternoon too, but he’s also taking the morning.”

Kassandra ignored his dog’s breakfast of an explanation. “You should go this morning. Oh, flowers!”

“Why?” 

“Nike is dancing today.”

Alexios hit his head on the top of the cupboard he was searching. Rubbing it slightly, he pulled out a basic clay cup and stood.

“Oh?” he said, trying for nonchalance.

“Yes, “oh” is right,” Kassandra replied, setting the bread on the table and producing a knife. “She insisted, even though Brasidas told her that she’d be hounded now, more than she has been. She even bought a new chiton for it.”

“She’s being hounded?”

Kassandra looked at him and saw him staring out the window. Rolling her eyes, she began cutting. “You may as well get a second cup for the flowers, I know the blue ones are for her.”

“What?” Alexios barked, startled. 

“Oh, come on, Alexios. I’m not blind.”

He was quiet for a moment, running the edge of the cup through his open hands. “How did you know?” he asked her quietly. “With Brasidas, I mean.”

“He made fun of me the first time he met me, even though I was armed to the teeth,” she replied, taking the cup from him.

“The first thing I saw of her was fear,” Alexios said quietly. 

“While she saw the sun,” Kassandra replied, moving the cut loaves into baskets. “Come on, walk me there.” She looped her arm through her brother’s, and they walked to the arena.

\--------

Alexios took his seat next to his partner King, greeting him with a relaxed smile. It was still morning, but Agis was deep into his cup and surrounded by their ephors and some members of the assembly. 

“Alexios, I didn’t expect you here until later,” he boomed, taking a grape from a passing helot’s plate. His hand lingered over her arm as she walked away from him, thinking her grateful for the attentions of a citizen. 

“My sister pulled me here early,” Alexios explained, settling into his stone chair. “What have you got Brasidas doing?”

“Mother hen-ning,” Agis laughed. “I asked him if he could organise the pageant of the children that comes after the dance. It’s below him, but suited.”

Alexios nodded, attention drifting to the avenue where the dancers would emerge.

“Looking for someone?” Agis teased. 

“No,” Alexios replied quickly. “But my mater is annoying me about it.”

“Yes, my father tried to tie it up before he died. A second cousin is apparently waiting in the wings until she comes of age. But, I guess, the only Agiad left is your sister and she’s already married.”

Alexios made a face at him as he laughed, until the sounds of drums drowned him out. 

A movement of bronze erupted from the corner of the arena, a chitin moving south. There were ribbons being thrown outward like blood spouting from a Spartan Phalanx. But it wasn’t the rigid structure that they practiced in the agoge, but rather it shifted and flowed as one shield was replaced by one behind it. It truly looked like it was a rolling beetle, moving into the arena until it stopped: strict and stationary. 

Then the drumming increased, hammering the audience’s hearts with anticipation. Yelling erupted from the other side of the arena, and women dressed as bandits descended on the still representation of the phalanx. Moving to the drums, the shields were moved in a circular fashion, alternating with drum beats and thrusts from the ‘Spartans’ to the assaulting bandits, a mesmerising dance. 

Alexios had never seen anything like it. He could feel the drums through his chest as he looked on to see the shields raised and spears thrown with frightening accuracy and movement. 

Then, the false bandits splayed low on the ground, the phalanx broke, and the drumming eased to allow a single lyre’s strings to be heard throughout the theatre. The shields were dropped, and the spears left on the ground, as the women who had been a part of the group blended with those who had played bandits. They then began moving in a circle, dancing with their hands above them, shifting around each other in intricate circles.

And then Alexios saw her, the yellow of her new chiton contrasted with the blues and greys of her colleagues. Her hands moved with the others, but he felt as if she was dancing solely for him.

It was arrogance, he knew, but he also couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

The lyre finished and the crowd exploded with applause. The women withdrew and Alexios saw Brasidas leading the agoge’s boys and girls in a parade in front. He smiled with the others, clapping along to the drumbeats as flags were waved and warchants sung. 

Then Agis clapped him on the shoulder. “That was Brasidas’ ward, wasn’t it?” he asked, eyes on the children. “In the yellow?”

“Nike, yes,” Alexios confirmed. 

“I’ve not met her,” Agis replied, rubbing his chin. “Perhaps I should. Is she as feisty as she looks?”

“She’s Kassandra’s ward too, if that tells you anything.”

Agis hummed in acknowledgement, then turned his attention to the helot filling his wine cup, dragging her onto his lap.

Alexios rolled his eyes and applauded the children, standing to do so. He saw Brasidas smile in acknowledged thanks as he lead the children out of the arena.

“Well, that’s about enough ceremony for me today,” he said to the not-listening Agis. His ephors nodded at him as he left the dias in at least a little bit of acknowledgement that he’d spoken.

Moving around the back of the structure, he removed his cloak and laid it over his arm. The red linen was a slightly different shade to his usual wool, but it was just too hot to wear it. And without it about his shoulders, he could slip through his city the same as almost any other man. 

Instead, he walked directly to the house where the women were organising their lunch. He stood awkwardly outside the door, watching as women entered and left. For each face that passed him smiling, another looked at him suspiciously. They all knew him, of course, but this was one of the places where he was forbidden. This was a women’s space, a wife’s and a bachelorette’s space, where they could be free of the scrutiny of men. So he wasn’t surprised when Nike finally emerged with a hostile tone.

“What are you doing here?” she said, dragging him away from the open door. His skin burnt slightly where she brushed it, but he knew that was just nerves.

He startled, dropping his cloak and turning up the dust under his sandals. “Nike, I was just waiting for you,” he said, fumbling with the linen and the words. He _hated_ fumbling with words. 

“Why? What’s wrong?” she asked, worry overtaking suspicion. 

“Nothing, just Kassandra asked me to walk you home,” he lied, shaking out the dusty red cloth and laying it over his arm again. He was sweating, and it wasn’t the heat. Her yellow chiton billowed about her as a draft moved around the corner of the house and he was momentarily blinded by it. 

“No she didn’t,” she said with a scrunched up face. “I just saw her.”

“Huh,” Alexios replied, voice almost collapsing. “I wonder why she asked me to do it then.” 

Nike cocked her eyebrow at him, and his mouth involuntarily quirked at the side. 

“Let me get my spear.”

Alexios smiled and nodded at her, having absolutely no idea what the fuck he was doing. He turned to look out to the street and the people milling around with flowers in their hair. Children were running and squealing, women were carrying food or calling to each other about Athens’ most recent spite, men were laughing and slapping their thighs. Alexios couldn’t take credit for the people, of course, but the only prayers he said were for their safety.

He turned back to the house and found her watching him, her eyes strayed to the arm where his cloak lay, the red smouldering in the sun.

They walked for a few minutes without speaking, moving through the roving crowds. Alexios was stopped a few times to be asked about some concern or another, and he only dismissed the larger ones, asking for them to be brought to the throne rather than to the street. The others were minor administration matters that he dealt with easily.

Once they were on the less populated road, Nike broke the silence.

“You’re good with them,” she said. “Honest, but bound.”

“I always wish they would annoy Agis rather than me,” he replied, irritated. Nike went silent at his tone, not wanting to push it further.

“It’s just,” he continued, tone more bouyant. Nike relaxed. “I never know which role people will want me in before they approach me. Am I Alexios the King, Alexios the General, Alexios the Tutor, or Alexios the man?”

“I think you can place those categories around you like an onion,” she said, rounding her hands like the vegetable. “The outer skin can be for Alexios the King, and the innermost fruit can be for Alexios the man. Only keep the innards for those you choose.” He stopped walking and looked at her, startled by the analogy. 

“Is that what you do?” he asked quietly.

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s important to remember that the people who only see your outside don’t really know you at all.” She began walking again, but he stayed rooted to the spot. “It helped in Argolis. If they only hurt my outside, then my inside was invulnerable.”

She turned, only just realising that he’d not kept up with her. Her brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“It just, it’s such a simple thing.”

She nodded to him, retracing her steps so she was right in front of him. She touched his linen cloak lightly, and he felt her fingers through the fabric. “If it helps,” she whispered. “I only ever see Alexios the man. Sometimes I forget that you’re King at all.” Her eyes were looking down, her hair shading her face from the sun.

“Even when I sit above you and watch you dance?” he asked softly. “How can I be anything but a King on the dias?”

“Because you’re the only one I was dancing for, and I only wanted to dance for Alexios the man.”

He reached into his belt, dusty due to the summer wind, and produced one of the blue flowers that he’d picked for her. He held it out, hoping beyond hope that she’d take it, smell it, and treasure it. 

But instead she took the hand that held it, and kissed his scarred palm, looking down at his fingers as she did so. Then she took the flower, and placed it behind her ear, pushing her black hair back. 

He was quick, and rash, and impulsive, and surrounded by his people. But she tasted like the moon risen and the sea retreating, so he didn’t care. 

\-------

“King, a word?”

His spy whispered quietly to him through his open study window, night having fallen hours beforehand. “Speak,” Alexios said without looking up.

“The woman, she’s moved back to Athens and is consolidating power.”

“In her own household?”

“Her son seeks leadership. She’s placing herself with Nicias.”

“Thank you.”

“Action?”

“None now. I will think on it. Come back to me tomorrow.”

“Yes, King.” And he was gone without a whisper. 

Alexios rubbed his face until he could feel his skin again. Aspasia was turning into a head that needed severing. He’d largely forgotten about her, as without Perikles’ house she had little base from which she could launch herself. But her son was soon to be of age to assert his Athenian side, and Alexios needed to act. 

He stood, dropping the scrolls he’d been writing on, and went to look in on Aegis. He’d moved to the upstairs room, the one next to Alexios’, since he was now convinced that only babies slept on the ground floor of their houses. It wasn’t necessarily untrue, with Alexios placing him there because he was worried that he’d find him injured at the bottom of the stairs after a fall, but the way that his son’s protestations and stamping foot asserted themselves made him feel so warm that he’d been quick to relent. He was sleeping, his covers kicked off and his long hair laying about his shoulders. He hadn’t been troubled by a night terror in about a year, and slept soundly without flashes of memory clouding him. Alexios walked over to replace his covers, and stroked his cheek lightly. He was possibly the most cared for boy in Sparta, but the spectre of how he’d come to be here still reared. There were things still to be done.

So Alexios sat at his desk and wrote out a detailed peace envoy to Athens. Gifts; rhetoric; oration; philosophy; theatre. All of the hallmarks of two cities who were at peace, though a strained peace, and their shared interests at maintaining that peace. Nicias would accept it, fearful of war as he was, and Alexios would place minds that could report back to him on how advanced Aspasia’s ambition lay. He put the notes for the envoy into the draw that kept his cultist information when he heard a heavy pounding on his front door. 

He stood and walked to the door quickly.

“It’s just me,” Nike called through the door. “I’m out of hands to knock, that’s all!”

Alexios relaxed and opened the door a crack. “Sorry, no solicitors today,” then he shut it, smirking.

“Alexios!”

He opened it a crack again, ready to make another joke, but saw the anger on her face so sighed and opened the door fully. She walked in holding a large pot, and he felt dizzy as the delicious aroma filled the room. 

“That was heavy, you know?”

“And yet you walked it all the way here,” he replied, dipping his finger in the sauce and licking it. He closed his eyes slowly as the taste of the oranges and cloves momentarily transported him back to Kephallonia. “Gods,” he said. “Can I get used to these kinds of visits, or is this a special occasion?”

Her face reddened slightly, and the pause grew to engulf them both. 

“Sorry,” she said once her eyes left his. “I know it’s late, I just thought you would like the oranges.”

“They’re my favourite,” he confirmed, swallowing slightly. He saw her eyes flick to his throat as he made the movement.

“I wa-.”

“About the oth-.”

They both stopped, and laughed slightly, looking away from each other. 

“You go first,” he said, getting a set of bowls out of his cupboard. 

“About the other day,” she began, and his insides froze. They hadn’t spoken since he’d walked her home a week ago. He hadn’t been avoiding her, but he hadn’t really wanted to feel the sting of rejection that was no doubt coming. He still made an effort to feel around for matching bowls, rather than the haphazard assortment he’d collected, but he barely concentrated on it.

“Yes?” he ventured, voice constricted.

“Brasidas was right, and I’ve been annoyed a lot.”

Suprise lit his face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that … I mean that I’ve received lots of letters and lots of flowers. I’m glad Kassandra taught me to read, but I’d hoped to read things other than the poor poetry of grown men. Not that I’m upset at you, but you _were_ the one to introduce poetry to the agoge, so it is kind of your fault.”

His shoulders moved down as he brought the bowls next to the pot and fed some food into them. “Yes, I suppose I should be blamed. I did inflict _culture_ on them.”

“And me,” she corrected. 

“And you,” he confirmed, passing her the bowl. “So, has Brasidas received anything?”

She brought her bowl to her mouth and sipped at the sauce, as if delaying her answer. “Yes, he has. Someone gave him a goat.”

“Surely the man has enough to worry about, without throwing a goat into the mix?”

“I think he likes it, quietly: likes his pride being on display. He tells me everyday how proud of me he is.”

“That’s funny, because he mentions it everytime he can while working with us, too.”

She smiled at that, an easy smile that reminded him of the smile she’d had for him on the road. 

“But I haven’t sent him anything, I guess,” he said softly, looking at his bowl.

“Well, no,” she confirmed, a question lingering in her second syllable. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he said not sounding at all sorry. He stood, moving towards her while placing his bowl on the table. He lifted her hair to be behind her ear, cupping her face as he did so. “But you see,” a kiss on her jaw, “he didn’t actually make an offer for my sister,” a kiss on her cheek, “so it’s only fair that I deny him the ability,” a kiss on her nose, “to accept the offer for his daughter.” He finally ended on her mouth, bringing her to him and letting her engulf him. She wore the yellow chiton she’d worn to the dancing the week before, and he ran his hands underneath it, feeling her shiver to his cold hands. He explored her as she explored him, moving in unison like they had been performing this exact thing without actually touching since the months after he’d rescued her from Argolis. He’d wanted her then, wanted all of her. And the best part was that he could have her, if she would let him. He wasn’t bound, he wasn’t answerable to his city or his family and their wants and needs: he could have this, even when all the rest was stripped away. 

She dug her hands into his back, attempting to dislodge his belt, and he grunted slightly at the pain. She broke the kiss, breathing hard, and looked down to the leather binding his chiton. She moved the buckle and undid it. 

“You know,” she breathed as he looked fiercly into her eyes, loving the small smile that curled her mouth. “I might still accept someone else. I may be here just to add a King to my list of conquests.” She slid his belt from his waist and it dropped to the floor.

“Then,” he said as she brought his chiton over his head, “let me oblige you.” Then he kissed her deeply, and moved her to the couch in his study, looking at her in the light of the brazier, and feeling as though he was seeing her for the first time.

\--------

Alexios didn’t wake when she did, but in his haze he felt her warmth move away from him. He heard the rustling of papers, and the moving of inkwells, an opening of a drawer and the closing of another. He also heard her whispering, and the words punctuated by her intruding thoughts.

“Where is a bloody _black_ inkwell? Does the man not write in black? Gods, and not a skerrick of paper.”

Then the whispering stopped, and the rustling stopped, and Alexios felt the mood of the room shift.

“Alexios,” Nike said, loudly and with an undercurrent of anger. He grunted quietly, rolling towards where he knew she was. Because he knew they were in his study, and she was standing near his open window above his desk. His desk.

His eyes shot open and he sat up, eyes taking in her furious face. She was holding a scroll, one without a seal, crushing it in her hands. 

“Aspasia lives?” she said, deathly quiet. He looked between her face and her hand, making a conscious effort to avoid looking at her figure, so beautiful in the morning light.

“What?” he said, sleep making his voice crumble. 

“Aspasia. Does-she-live?”

Alexios rose from the couch and walked over to her. He looked behind her to his desk, and found his usually locked drawer open and exposed. But of course, he’d not locked it the night before when she’d startled him in her arrival. Instead of voicing the easy exits to the conversation: _why were you going through my things; that’s Sparta’s business_, or placating her with lies: _no, she’s dead; no, she died long ago,_ he told her the truth.

“Yes, she lives. But we’re watching her.”

Nike’s eyes closed slowly, as if praying for her own calm tone and measured response. “She was the one who carved the _koppa_,” she whispered, her hand moving to her neck. “She did that to me, and you let her _live_.”

“She’s Athenian, what else was I to do?” he asked, temper breathing out of his nose. 

Nike didn’t answer, but instead dropped the scroll back onto his desk, placed her yellow chiton over her head, and left the room and the house. He watched her go, his instincts fighting between calling her back and smothering her in apology, and calling her back and forcing her to see his reasons. Instead, he watched the yellow leave over the hill. 

\--------

Later, after he had organised the peace envoy to Athens and seen them off, Alexios braved a visit to his sister’s. He intended on returning her pot, but he also had a blue flower in his pocket. It wasn’t much, but he hoped it would symbolise something beyond what had happened that morning.

“She came home in a rush this morning,” Kassandra said as she plied her spun wool. “But I haven’t seen her in an hour or so. I’d hoped you could provide me with an explanation?” She didn’t look at him, but her tone was devastatingly probing. 

“She found out that I wasn’t pursuing the Ghost,” Alexios said, sitting on the ground, bracing his leg beneath him. 

“And how did she find this out?” Kassandra asked, still unemoting. 

“She found a note of the Ghost’s recent movements on my desk.”

“This morning?”

“Yes.”

“So I guess she came straight home, and lost her sandals on the way.”

“You sound like mater,” Alexios muttered. He didn’t need an interrogation, he just needed to find Nike. 

Kassandra put her spinning to the side, and sat forward with her arms leaning on her knees. He could already tell that he wasn’t going to escape without a verbal whipping.

“I honestly, truly, don’t know what you expected, brother.” Her temper, so even before, was dripping. “She was there since she was a child, had to endure things you can not dream of, and she finds out that her King and suitor has essentially disregarded the people who did it to her as inconsequential?”

“I hadn’t,” he sputtered. “I sent an envoy to Athens today. Some of them are tasked with watching for her power base specifically, testing to see if we should act. I haven’t disregarded it.”

“Did Nike know this?” Kassandra asked.

“I didn’t get a chance to explain,” Alexios whined.

“More like you didn’t take the chance. I bet you spent all night with her but didn’t mention any of it at all.”

Alexios didn’t answer, but grumbled under his breath. 

After his sister had returned to her spinning, he stood and sighed. “Do you have any idea where she might be?”

“None the faintest.”

It was later that he found out about the note: one of his soldiers passing it to Brasidas, and Brasidas, in a fury, passing it along to Alexios. 

“You did this,” Brasidas said to him, shoving the scroll into his hands. Black ink melted through the paper as he unrolled it.

_Brasidas,_

_My apologies, father. I just need to take some time, so I’ve travelled out of the city to hunt and think. _

_My love to you and Kassandra,_

_Nike._

“She can’t leave the city without my permission,” Alexios said quietly, grasping.

“Try and tell her that,” Brasidas raged. “I don’t know what happened, but she delivers a pot of food to you, then disappears. Athens has agents in the Peloponnese! Athens is probing us as we speak! And she’s somewhere in the wilderness!”

“She said she needs time,” Alexios replied, trying to beat his own panic down.

“If she is a game to you, Alexios, I swear I wil-.”

“She’s not,” Alexios interrupted, looking up from the note.

“Well you better bloody hope that you two have been subtle enough to ensure that Athens doesn’t target her specifically as they hunt Spartans and our allies throughout these mountains.”

Alexios opened and closed his mouth several times as Brasidas walked away from him. 

\-------

The envoy came back from Athens with a tattered peace charter and two furious Kings to answer to. It should have been a simple task, one that was simply the greasing of a wheel for two cities that didn’t even want war. 

But instead the envoy came back with a declaration that Sparta had murdered one of their prominent citizens in their own city, and that that was a declaration of war.

Alexios and Agis sat on their twin thrones, Alexios seated back straight and Agis bent double. They both knew that the other hadn’t ordered the death of Aspasia, or of her son Perikles, but as it was linkable to Sparta, they may as well have. 

Alexios tried to keep his head in the room as Generals and Commanders spoke of their recommendations and needs, but he had been unable to concentrate since the envoy had arrived.

No, he’d been unable to concentrate since Nike had gone missing, and she’d been missing for three weeks. No word nor trace of her, and no way to find out if she still lived or if she was simply still thinking.

“...and the woman Aspasia was murdered in her home, with Perikles the Younger, and their slaves raised the alarm. They described the assailant as a dark woman with a hood covering her hair. I assured them that Sparta would assist them in hunting the killer, but one of the slaves reported that they saw her face and that she had a distinguished mark on her neck.”

Alexios was only half listening, thinking the deed was done and that when Nike came home, she might feel safer.

“What kind of mark?” Agis asked, throwing a scroll at Alexios so he would listen. 

The Spartiate looked nervously at Alexios, his voice breaking slightly. “A _koppa_, King.”

Agis looked pointedly at Alexios. “And you say you had nothing to do with this, Agiad?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your Nike, she’s missing, then suddenly a war is started with Athens by a person with a dark complexion who is sporting a _koppa_ on her neck. Curious, don’t you think?”

Alexios opened and shut his mouth several times. “Leave us,” he ordered of his ephors and Spartiates. 

“What are you implying?” Alexios asked his partner King after the room had emptied.

“I’m implying that the envoy was a ruse, and that you sent your consort north to murder an Athenian to start a war.”

“You know how worried sick about her I’ve been,” he replied breathlessly.

“Yes, like a puppy,” Agis replied, anger mounting. Alexios had never been so reminded of Archidamos in his life. “I also think it’s curious that you’d met Aspasia, hadn’t you? At one of Perikles’ symposiums?”

“When I was seventeen, yes,” Alexios seethed. “Hardly old enough to know how to hold a conversation. And none of them knew who I was then. I hardly knew who I was.”

“And yet you come to Sparta, become King, and seek to involve Athenian practices into our agoge.”

_What you’re actually saying,_ Kassandra had said with warning in her voice when he’d been detailing his plans for a poetic Sparta, so many years ago, _is that Sparta should become more Athenian. One symposium, and you’re all ears for the old men of Athens._

“You think I’m setting Sparta up,” Alexios said, dumbfounded.

“I think you may be selling us down the river with no boat,” Agis returned.

“Athens has been threatening our allies since Amphipolis, been threatening us on our own peninsular. But you’d like to blame a single woman’s death?” Alexios shouted.

“No, but they will, pretending that they haven’t already invaded. And we will war, like we always do, and we will win, like we always do,” Agis sighed, sounding defeated. It was steam, and they had to let it out without the ears of their advisors listening in. 

“Then we war,” Alexios confirmed, misgivings in his voice.

\--------

He walked back to his house, hand in hand with his son. Aegis was chattering about illustrating the song of Leonidas, and how he liked that he knew what his spear looked like because it was like Kassandra’s. Alexios hummed along, interjecting with encouragement and approval. Aegis let go of his hand and ran ahead, squealing all the way to the front door. Alexios had kept his head low, thinking of bloodshed, and it wasn’t immediately clear as to why Aegis had raced ahead.

“King.”

Alexios looked up, and found Nike watching him from his front door, holding Aegis close to her. He stopped, his face journeying through his uncontrollable emotions.

But first he had to know if Agis was right.

“Was it you?” he asked simply.

“Yes,” she replied without pretence. 

He nodded slightly, chest contracting, breath moving out of him.

“I’m glad you’re home,” he replied. “Your father almost strung me up.”

She didn’t smile. Instead she put Aegis down, the boy running into the kitchen, and moved to Alexios, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face in his cloak. He didn’t hesitate to hug her back, breathing in her hair and noting that she was mostly intact.

“I’m furious with you, you know,” he whispered, light and airy.

“I know,” she whispered back. 

“There are Athenians throughout this peninsular, and you left without any protection.”

“I can protect myself well enough.”

“No,” he said, extracting her from him so he could look at her properly. “There are spies throughout this city, and you’re identifiable.”

“Why would they care?”

Alexios looked at her, confused, until he saw the curl of her mouth, challenging him to spell it out. 

“I want to marry you,” he whispered, moving her hair back from her forehead. “I want you to be Queen.” She nodded, and melted back into his chest.

“I don’t want you to go to war,” she whispered.

“War is inevitible,” he whispered back, stroking her hair. He pulled away from her, and cupped her face with his hands. “This is Sparta, war is what we do.”

\--------

Alexios walked to the mountain, the one that had thrown him and crowned him. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and he knew he’d find his sister here among the sacred stone. 

“Kassandra,” he greeted as he walked to her. She turned and smiled lightly, no longer resentful of her midnight jaunts having company. 

“Alexios, come to watch the sun rise?”

“I thought you may have been spending the time with Brasidas,” he said as he sat next to her. He spread his wool cloak over her shoulders and she took his hand and squeezed it.

“You mean before this city sends him to war? I can’t stand the waiting, like I’m watching a ghost move about and eat breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” Alexios said, rubbing his thumb over the heel of her hand. 

She shook her head. “It was inevitible.”

Brasidas was going with the first wave, marching north while Stentor marched west to solidify the Peloponnese. They were going to strangle Athens’ silver, as he’d done before. He’d almost died, but he’d done it. 

“He’s the best Sparta has, and hopefully it’ll be a quick victory.”

“Don’t let Stentor hear you say that,” Kassandra laughed hollowly. 

“Strengths where they lie,” he replied. 

They looked out over the city, its braziers lit but sitting quietly as wives farewelled husbands and children farewelled fathers. Alexios’ mind turned to his own son, six years old and already so fierce. 

Aegis was Spartan, would enter the agoge, and the phalanx when he was old enough. He would be shipped to lands far from here to defend his city and its people. He would don a red cloak, a golden helm, and scream as he tore men apart. 

Because that was what Sparta was, that was all Sparta would ever be. If this peace was punctuated, it was only by the beating drum that was Sparta’s war-like heart. It screamed for blood, screamed for flesh. Hades was filled with children like Aegis who grew to be cut down. 

Had Alexios really saved him? Was it enough to say that he’d saved him from Chrysis’s knife, only to be cut by a sword in battle? Was his son going to be the lesson his Gods sent him for his hubris? To dare to expect better from his life: to tend to his fields, survey them as the sun set, and proclaim himself content and happy? He’d been cursed by his blood, the sought blood of Kings. He’d been condemned for it, thrown from a mountain for it. His sister had been taken for it, left to rot as a weapon that was weilded by smoke. 

But this was Sparta. And Sparta meant war. 

Kassandra sighed. They could have had peace for a little longer, but instead, her brother would be sending members of his family to war. Her brothers and countrymen, her friends and his wards.

She’d held blame to Nike initially, the spark that galvanised Athens coming from her knife in Aspasia’s throat, the broken peace falling to the girl with the _koppa_. The girl that spies recognised as the Spartan King’s consort. 

But no, that wasn’t right. The peace had been broken when Sparta had refused to give up Amphipolis. The peace had been broken by the countless skirmishes that took place throughout contested Hellas. 

Peace had been broken when Kassandra had taken the contract for the Wolf’s head. 

“I could have taken Aegis to Kephallonia, and raised him in safety,” Alexios whispered. “Instead I’m sending some of the children I rescused from Argolis to die tomorrow.”

Kassandra’s hand squeezed his, so tightly that it began to hurt. “They travel for the King who saved them, Alexios.”

“If another King saved them, they may not need to worry about war at all.”

“Think on it,” she said. “What would we be if we hadn’t left Kephallonia?”

“Safe.”

“Miserable, with our hands tied taking odd jobs for little men.”

“But we’d be safe from war.”

“Brasidas would be dead, Pausanias would have succeeded in killing him. Aegis would be dead, Chrysis would have sacrificed him to Hera the night you saved him. Stentor would be dead, Boeotia overwhelming him and cutting through to Sparta. Nike would be dead, or worse, living the life of a slave soaked in death. Isn’t it better to have known them, loved them, and stood next to them even as Sparta marches to war?”

Many times in his life, he’d known people were lying to him. He’d sensed their slight facial movements, the difference in intonation in their voice, the dissonance between their previous sentence and the next. But he knew in his bones, deep where his instincts lay in wait, that his life had led him here truthfully and without pretense. 

He’d been thrown from Taygetos, he’d been gifted a staff from his sister and taught to use it, he’d sold fish in the agora, he’d won Megaris by burning arrowheads and saving his father. He’d taken to Delphi, the scars lining his body how they now lined his sister’s and his son’s and his Queen’s.

He’d assented to the throne, being thrust upon it by people who thought him suitable. But he was truly only suited to one thing, and that was the mercy and compassion that had stayed his hand while the world scarred him. 

But he was here, and Sparta would war. Because it was what Sparta did. 

They looked over the mountain that had tried to claim them, and felt it breathe. Here, on the precipice where it began, Alexios and Kassandra sat, hand in hand, and waited for the sun to rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I really enjoyed writing it!

**Author's Note:**

> Like my work? Donate to the NSW/ACT Aboriginal Legal Service!  
https://www.alsnswact.org.au/donate


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